


Let's Glow in the Dark

by Croik



Series: Radioactive Boyfriends [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (2012), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Age Difference, Dubious Consent, Hulk Sex, M/M, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 101,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Croik/pseuds/Croik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/561716">We Might Be Radioactive</a>.  Bruce and Peter struggle to define the boundaries of their relationship, unaware that their recent escapades have drawn the attention of some very powerful assholes.  As the Avengers become targets of their increasingly incoherent and dangerous plots, Peter has one last chance to prove he can cut it as part of the team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [让我们在黑暗中发光吧](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10488195) by [JeanTse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanTse/pseuds/JeanTse)



> As the rules of sequels dicatate, you can expect in this fic more drama! More action! More sexytimes! It's going to be a shade darker than the last one, and in case you missed it in the tags, it is labeled Hulk/Peter separate from Bruce/Peter for a reason. Consider that a warning, or an incentive, as you prefer.
> 
> Comments and crit welcome!

It was not often that the famous Thunderbolt Ross went into battle without his uniform.

Negotiation was not his forte. He would have preferred the meeting to be on his own terms, on his own turf, with the full, intimidating force of olive service dress and a chest full of brass bolstering him. His forthcoming opponent was not one to be feared, but he expected resistance and no small amount of idiocy. In better days it would have been beneath him. But Ross's better days were behind him, and he had little choice but to march into a federal prison in a charcoal suit, with only one plain-clothes officer at his side.

The warden met him just past the security checkpoint, and after a tedious exchange of pleasantries, they continued on to the visitation wing. A private room had been prepared with a table, two chairs, and a cell phone, as per Ross's request. With his officer waiting outside Ross took his seat, and as soon as the door was closed behind him, he picked up the phone and dialed.

It was answered on the second ring by a man's rough voice. "Yes?"

"It's me," said Ross. "I'm here. I hope you're sure about this, Osborn. You know how I feel about wasting my time."

"I am out of options," said Norman Osborn. He sounded even worse than the last time they'd spoken only the day before--his breath seemed to hiss against each word. "And so are you, so unless you have an alternative to suggest, I don't see what choice we have."

Ross hated to agree, and was spared from having to do so when the far door opened. A guard stepped through leading a uniformed prisoner: possibly the last man General Ross would have ever wished to go to for assistance. When the guard offered to cuff the man to the chair, Ross declined, and they were left alone.

"Hammer," Ross greeted, making no effort to hide his irritation. "It's been a long time."

That time hadn't been kind to Justin Hammer. Whenever he surfaced for another court appeal he managed to put on a spectacle for the cameras, but there was no hiding the weight he'd lost beneath his orange prison jumper, the dark circles under his eyes, the gray in his hair. For several beats he stared at Ross in shock and looked nothing like the smarmy little asswipe Ross was ashamed to have ever worked with. It may have been an improvement.

"General Ross." Hammer rallied himself and took a seat. He looked jumpy and Ross liked that. "Well. If I'd known you were coming I would have put the champagne on ice."

Ross's smile was mostly sneer. "But you know I only drink whiskey." He set the cell phone to speaker and placed it on the table between them. "Besides, we're talking business now."

"Business." Hammer gave a short laugh and then eyed the phone as if it were a python. "Funny. Business with whom?"

"Hello, Hammer," the phone croaked. "This is Norman Osborn."

Hammer flinched back and then laughed again. "Norman Osborn himself, huh? This is quite an occasion." He relaxed back in his chair with a bitter smirk. "But you're barking up the wrong tree. You must be looking for the head of Hammer Industries. By which I mean, _not_ me."

"If he could help me, believe me, I wouldn't be here." Ross reached into his jacket and removed a folded piece of paper to pass across the table. Hammer didn't make any move to accept it at first, but as Ross continued, he reluctantly peeled it open. "Within a few weeks, Oscorp will own everything left of Hammer Industries worth owning," said Ross. "Between the negotiations and your ongoing trial, we were able to acquire a very comprehensive list of your assets and transactions. Among them, there's at least one item unaccounted for. It was moved from Hammer Industries' main facility to a storage unit sometime in 2009, but it's not there now."

Hammer tugged his glasses off the collar of his jumper and slipped them on as he read over the sheet. When he reached the item Ross had highlighted, his eyebrows rose. "The vita-ray chamber."

"Is it the real thing?"

Hammer glanced to him over the top of his glasses. Something clicked in that pea-sized brain of his and Ross knew Hammer had him by the balls already. Not that it really mattered. He had reconciled with what he would have to do before stepping foot in the prison. 

"It took you a lot longer than I thought it would," said Hammer. He set the paper down. "General Ross, chaser of little green men. All that time looking for the American dream, and you never thought to recreate the exact circumstances."

"Is it the real thing?" Ross asked again.

Hammer was trying very hard to not grin. After a year in the pen any man would have pounced on the chance to be a king, if even for just a few minutes in a prison visitation room. "Oh it's real," he said, all his earlier jitters replaced with smugness. "Everyone said the thing was dismantled back in the fifties. 'Cause you see, by itself, it's worse than useless. Vita-rays are nasty business. Give people cancer. Without the proper serum..." He made a squeamish face and shook his head.

"I know all that," Ross said impatiently.

"Then I'm sure you know about how old Howie Stark hid the thing from the government," Hammer went on, and Ross listened closer. "They were gonna make him scrap the thing--gives people cancer, you know--but it was such a beauty, he couldn't part with it. Submitted a replica and put the real thing in deep storage." He heaved a sigh. "Of course, then he went and died. The company was in the crapper so Stane started selling off his trinkets. My old man bought the vitay-ray chamber from him at some kind of underground auction back in..." His brow furrowed. "Nintey-four? Ninety-five?" He shrugged. "You won't find a record. Damn thing didn't come with a title. But yeah, dad really got off on having Stark's favorite disappointment. It's a piece of American history."

He sounded like he knew what he was talking about, but it was never easy to tell with Hammer. Ross had been burned before but he didn't exactly have a choice, and all three of them knew it. So he asked, "Where is it now?"

"A basement," Hammer said. "In a facility, owned by a company I own. I _still_ own." His smugness was reaching impossible levels. "At least, I'm pretty sure if the feds had unwound that particular ball of red tape they would have come a'calling about it. There's more than WWII relics in that basement." He wriggled his fingers ominously. Ross scowled, but before he could ask his next question, Hammer went on.

"So, I know what _your_ interest is in it," he said. "Though I'm surprised they're even letting you keep your fingers in that pie. But what about our friend Norman?" He tapped on the phone that had remained silent for too long. "You still there? Tell me Oscorp is not buying me out so it can put the whole thing in the toilet over Captain Boyscout 2.0."

"I'm still here," said Osborn wearily. "My interest is in acquiring property that could potentially belong to me."

Hammer flashed Ross a face that said, _Can you believe this guy?_ "You're in bed with _the_ Thunderbolt Ross, visiting _me_. Did he promise you a super soldier for Oscorp's next bake sale? Come on, Norman, we both know he might as well promise you the moon. Something else is going on here. Ah!" He leaned forward against the table. "Tell me this is about that spider-thing all over the news."

Ross ran his tongue over his teeth. "What makes you think that has anything to do with this?"

Hammer's lips pulled back in a shark's grin. "You are going to get me out of this prison," he said matter-of-factly. "That much is a given. But you are here in a _suit_ and Norman-fucking-Osborn is on the line, three days after a spider-monster did Godzilla battle with _your_ favorite disappointment. Something is going on--this is a negotiation and I want _everything_ on the table."

Ross returned Hammer's grin with bitter twist of his lip. When he was a fresh recruit, his drill sergeant used to say that even the smallest, dumbest termite could eat you out of your house if you made it hungry enough. It never stopped being true. "What do you know about spiders?"

"I know they've caused a world of trouble for my old friend Norman." Hammer gave the phone a flick and watched it spin on the table. "In spandex and out. You know what the internet is saying, don't you? Yes, we get internet here. Everyone's saying that Oscorp is a monster factory, and when Spider-Man broke in to bust your lid open, you sicced an all-too-appropriate eight-legged beast on him."

"That _thing_ did not come from Oscorp," Osborn grumbled.

"Oh, right. You prefer lizards."

"Spider-Man stole something from me." Ross was tempted to warn Osborn not to get drawn up in by Hammer's bait, but he didn't like the man that much and stayed out of it. "He is a thief, and he's spreading rumors to defame my company. We had nothing to do with that creature."

"So then, was it one of yours?" Hammer looked to Ross. "Harlem wasn't enough, huh?"

"You were right the first time," Ross begrudgingly admitted. "I'm locked out of the serum project. That thing didn't come from me."

Hammer drummed his fingers on the table. His eyes narrowed with amusement. "You don't think it's _mine_ , do you?"

"Where is the chamber?" Ross asked again.

"It's secure, really. That oven hasn't put out so much as an apple pie since we bought it. No, seriously." Hammer rolled his eyes. "Like I said, if someone had breached that facility you would know about it by now."

Ross had the feeling nothing Hammer had stowed away could surprise him, but he couldn't help a touch of curiosity. He decided to take the risk. "When I read the report, I assumed it was Oscorp's work," he said evenly. "It had all the signs of Dr. Conners' formula. Osborn had the same thought about me and the Super Soldier Serum, and considering the intervention of Spider-Man and..." He twitched. "...the Hulk, both of our assumptions were valid. It was when we met to discuss the matter that Osborn revealed to me what he had learned about the vita-ray chamber in your possession. So we made a deal." He saw Hammer's eyes gleaming and added gravity to his tone to match. "That I would get him the chamber if he provided the serum."

Hammer tsked at him. "If you put a lizard in that thing it's just going to give him lizard cancer."

"Not that serum. Erskine's serum-- _my_ serum."

"You want _him_ to... huh." Hammer frowned, thinking it over, and then frowned deeper. "Did I miss something?"

Ross drew the phone closer. "Send the photo."

A moment later the phone chimed with an incoming message, and Ross opened it to show to Hammer. "I assume you saw this much of the incident in New York."

Hammer squinted at the photo of Captain America amongst a group of New York police officers. "Yeah, I saw him. He's...wait." He laughed. "You're not saying he's the real thing."

"A Nazi war plane was salvaged from the far north some weeks ago," Ross explained. "Their findings didn't make it to my desk. But now we have Captain America, and from what we've seen, his abilities are comparable to what they were during the war." He managed not to let his opinion of that make it to his voice. "Either they've revived a seventy-year-old corpse, or they've extracted the original Erskine formula from it."

"You think _that's_ where the spider came from?"

"The serum my department used is still on ice. I've confirmed. If Osborn says the thing isn't his, there are only so many possibilities."

Hammer flicked at the phone again. "You believe him?"

"I'm dying," said Osborn, and for a moment all the smug superiority was absent from Hammer's downturned eyes. "If Erskine's formula exists, I have to have it, and I need that chamber with it. If you ever want to see your freedom again, you're going to give me what I need, because we can bury you as easily as set you free. You know that."

Hammer was quiet for a long moment. Ross saw in him that the negotiation was already over--Hammer would do anything to escape. Despite all his bravado he had been trembling when he entered the room and the weight of iron bars was on his shoulders. A man like him wasn't going to last long in even a shallow hole. They had already won.

But then Hammer took in a deep breath and lifted his head. "You need me to get the serum, too, don't you?"

Ross scoffed. "Now you're--"

"If you could get to this guy through the military, you would have it already. Oscorp has its ways, but if Norman needs it as badly as he says he does, _he_ would have it already. And then he'd be negotiating with me via some gorilla of his own instead of a decorated general." When Ross started to interrupt, Hammer talked over him. "Am I wrong? This isn't about getting me out, this is about getting yourselves a grunt to find this asshole and then scapegoat me back into prison. We're all shady fuckers here but I'm the one that's dealt mini-guns to terrorists, and _that's_ what you need: connections. Right? So who's got who by the balls here?"

Hammer leaned back. His superiority had sharpened into something lethal, and Ross couldn't help but grin back at him, bearing teeth. "Prison's changed you, Justin," Ross said. "It really is an improvement."

Hammer licked his lips and was suddenly a businessman again. "We all want something here," he said, his fingers tapping. "A chamber, a serum." He waved his hand vaguely. "A chance to _live_. And Thunderbolt Ross, I'm sure you wouldn't mind a chance to restore your, what would you call it, lost honor? By finally getting that damn serum to work? This table has a lot on it right now, but I think we can fit a bit more on, in case either of you wants to add to the pile."

"Spider-Man," Osborn said immediately. "I want Spider-Man."

Hammer gestured to the phone. "There, see? Spider-Man is on the table. Between him, Captain America, and whatever you called the green one, you've already declared war on the country's heroes. That's a lot weighted against just me getting out of prison."

"All right, then." Ross shook his head as if trying to deny to himself that he was impressed. "Just say what it is you want."

"Stark." Hammer all but seethed in his skin. "On a pike, preferably."

Ross laughed; he should have guessed. "And with that, I think our table is full."

"My terms are my terms," said Hammer, shrugging. "And we all know you're going to take it, so shake my god damn hand, won't you?" Hammer extended his hand across the table. "Come on, Thaddeus. Say you don't want his head on a stick as much as I do, I dare you."

Ross hated to do it, but he shook Hammer's hand. "If your tech was half as good as your mouth I would have picked you over Stark years ago," he lied. "So. Where is the chamber?"

Hammer leaned back and wiped his hand off on his shirtfront, to Ross's irritation. "Oh come on, you know how this works. Not until I'm free."

"It will take time," Osborn protested. "I don't have time."

"So what?" Hammer pointed at the phone and rolled his eyes as if trying to share with Ross a private joke. "It doesn't really matter if you kick it before I'm out, because, and I'm just being honest here, you're really the least important part of this. You realize that, right?"

"You have nothing," Osborn growled. "No company, no money. And Ross has no authority worth a damn anymore. If you--"

Ross reached forward and set the phone to mute. "You'll be hearing from your lawyers soon," he told Hammer. "It will take time, but I guarantee that you'll walk within two months. So you'd better have that chamber gift-wrapped for me."

"With bells on," Hammer agreed. He sat back as Ross pressed a button on the table that signaled the end of their visit. "Give my regards to your lovely daughter."

Ross grimaced, and only just managed not to put his fist down Hammer's throat. Thankfully, the guard returned and escorted Hammer out. Ross didn't leave right away. He drew the phone to his ear and returned the sound to normal. "We knew he wasn't going to give it up that easily," he said. "He's sharper than I remember, but it worked out exactly as we planned."

"There are other ways to get the location out of him," Osborn grumbled.

Ross scoffed. "If you want to pay off federal prison guards to torture him, be my guest. But we still need that soldier, and whoever he is, he's one of Fury's Avengers. Better to let Hammer blunder ahead of us and take the heat." He could hear Osborn muttering and added, "You're just going to have to make do with what you have for now. Or don't. Hammer was right about you after all--there are plenty of people I can go to for funding."

"You can drain that soldier's blood dry and it won't do you any good without scientists to analyze it. So unless you want to call up your old friend Dr. Banner, you still need me, General." He harrumphed. "Or is he on the table as well?"

In better days, General Thaddeus Ross wouldn't have wasted his time with either of these men. No one would have questioned his worth or his authority no matter the cause or mission. But Ross's better days were far behind him. "You just make sure you're ready," he said. "Like I said: two months, and Hammer goes free. Then we go to war."

Ross hung up and left.


	2. Chapter 2

There were times Bruce felt ridiculously beneath his age.

It was just after hours. The handful of techs Bruce had at his disposal had gone home for the evening and he was in his office, trying to comb his hair in his reflection in the window. He was wearing his good shirt and his cuffs were buttoned to the wrist, God help him. He plucked his ID card off his desk and pinned it to the front of his lab coat on his way to the elevator.

The upper levels of Stark Tower had changed for Bruce in the six weeks since a spandexed teenager crawled past his window. After hours he still had full run of the place, which he had been utilizing to an effect he could be proud of, and several days a week he even visited the daytime staff to assist in their more interesting projects. It had been a long time since he'd worked in such an environment, with eager young assistants calling him "sir" and respected doctorates gently correcting his out-of-date knowledge where necessary. As the tower opened itself to him it felt more and more like home--a home he might have once denied himself, if not for the happy accident that was Peter Parker.

The elevator let him off on the forty-ninth floor, where the engineering department had built a veritable maze for their interns to scrounge about in. Bruce navigated the loaded benches and computer desks effortlessly, making his way to most coveted work station facing the north windows. It was there that he spotted Peter. He was in full clean-up mode, tossing pens back into their mugs and stowing snack wrappers in the drawers. Organizing his desk of scattered circuit boards and hunks of metal required a bit more finesse, and Bruce couldn't help but smile as he watched Peter work as efficiently as possible without displaying his abnormal degree of dexterity. 

"Dr. Bancroft," said a voice behind him. "It's good to see you below sixty."

Bruce turned and was happy to shake the hand of the department head, Mr. Hueller. "I was thinking of coming down on Friday to see how the competition is going," he said. "But for now, I wonder if I might borrow Mr. Parker for some clean-up duty."

"You'd better not be giving him extra help," Hueller scolded with amusement. "I'll know."

"Robotics isn't my field, I promise."

Hueller shook his head, but he was smiling. "Sure, you can have him, if you'll log him out when you're done." He waved. "Mr. Parker!"

Peter looked up. His gaze found Bruce immediately and he lit up like Christmas. With the last of his clutter handled he snatched up his backpack and hurried over. "Mr. Hueller?"

"Dr. Bancroft has some work for you upstairs, if you're up for it," he said.

"Aren't I always?" Peter grinned. Mischief sparked in his eyes and it made Bruce's palms sweat in the pockets of his lab coat. He was going to get them in trouble, grinning like that. Anyone could hear the innuendo lacing through his tone, could see the curl in the corner of his lip that said, _This isn't normal. Something is going on. They're definitely doing something they shouldn't._ But then Hueller waved them off, and as they walked to the elevator together Bruce couldn't understand how no one had figured it out yet. Peter was shouting it every moment they were together.

The elevator door closed, but there were still cameras, so Peter just leaned against the wall with his thumbs in his backpack straps and looked Bruce up and down. "You're wearing the lab coat today," he said, smirking.

"I was in the lab." Bruce smiled back, but he was sure that on him the expression looked guilty. He _felt_ guilty. "And I like wearing it whenever I go downstairs."

"You like reminding us lowly interns that you're on top of the food chain?"

Bruce chuckled. "Actually, I like to think I'm inspiring you."

"You are," Peter said immediately. His humor softened into sincerity, and it dug under Bruce's skin. "You do."

Bruce cleared his throat. The things Peter did to him, honestly. "So. I hear Tony has the interns doing his slave labor."

"It's a competition," Peter corrected. "Mr. Hueller says whichever one of us can create the lightest and most efficient elbow joint prosthesis has a shot at being hired full time once the internship is over."

"So you're designing spare Iron Man parts." Bruce shook his head. "The man has no shame."

"He told us it's not a real test until we make it in a cave."

Bruce winced; he didn't know how Tony could make light of something like that. "Are there many caves in New York City these days?"

"Just yours." The elevator stopped, and Peter took a step closer. Bruce slipped his hand out of his lab coat because he knew what came next. "I'm glad you come out of it more often, but I won't consider it real progress until you make it out of the building."

The doors opened, and they stepped through. After hours the cameras in Bruce's lab disconnected from central security and switched over to JARVIS-only monitoring, lending them, for all intents and purposes, invisible to the rest of Stark Tower. As soon as they passed the threshold Peter took Bruce's hand. It was silly--childish, really--but Bruce didn't discourage him. The gentle scrape of Peter's calloused fingers against the tender skin between his knuckles sent goose bumps up his arm.

"I'm working on that," Bruce said as they crossed the lab. "How _are_ the streets these days? Is the new suit working out for you?"

"Oh, yeah." They reached Bruce's favorite station, and after delivering a squeeze to Bruce's hand Peter let go and took a seat on the desk. "It's great, actually. Just the other night this guy comes at me with a knife, right? So I do this shimmy." He raised his arms and mimicked a twist of his hips. "Blade went right across my ribs, but with the webbing, it didn't even scratch. You were totally right."

Bruce sank into his chair and reached for one of his drawers. He tried very hard not to think about knives in back alleys. "Good, good. And it's not too restrictive?"

"It took a little getting used to, but it's not bad. It's kind of like getting an extra workout, because of the resistance, you know?" He watched with great interest as Bruce set a box on the desk next to him. "I like it. Soooo...."

"Go ahead." Bruce nudged the box closer.

Peter grinned as he lifted the top, revealing a row of six metal cartridges. He immediately plucked one out and turned it to and fro, hefting and sniffing. "Awesome."

"It's fully synthetic," said Bruce, smiling with pride at Peter's reaction. "And each one should last longer than the ones you were getting from Oscorp. They are, of course, completely untraceable. With the right equipment you can make it for yourself at home, if you want."

"Yeah, yeah." Peter shrugged his backpack off and tugged down his sleeve. His redesign of his web shooter looked even more like a sports watch than ever. "That would be great," he said as he swapped out the cartridge. "I was almost out of the Oscorp stuff. I was worried about buying more, after...yeah."

"I know."

Peter shot a strand at the ceiling. Once a few tugs proved it was secure, he reached as high as he could and pulled, lifting himself off the desk. Bruce leaned back and watched with amusement as Peter climbed to the top and then turned upside down, pushing against the ceiling with his feet. "Looks like you fixed the tensile strength problem of last week."

"And then some," said Bruce.

Peter slid down and thumped onto the desk again. "This is awesome, Bruce. Thanks." He tucked the box into his backpack.

"The original idea for the formula came from you," Bruce reminded him. "I just worked out the kinks."

"Yeah." Peter's eyes took on that mischief again. "Bruce Banner is an expert on kinks."

Bruce laughed and shook his head. "It's almost as if you don't want me to forget you're a teenager," he said, thumbing his nose.

"Speaking of which..." Peter leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the desk. "My birthday's this week."

"I know," said Bruce, doing his best to look politely interested and nothing more. "I saw it on your application when you were accepted to Hueller's department."

"I'm going to be eighteen this year," said Peter, his tone full of youthful importance.

"I know."

Peter waited a beat, and when Bruce offered nothing more, he reached out with his foot to hook Bruce's knee. The office chair creaked as he drew Bruce closer. "I was kind of hoping we could..."

"Could...?" Bruce echoed. His face was a mask; his heart was a cat in a bag. 

"You know." Peter set his heels on either side of Bruce's seat. Thank goodness only JARVIS was watching through the cameras. Peter was already blushing, his eyes bright and eager, and Bruce knew it wasn't one of those nights he'd be able to say no. "Take things up a notch."

Bruce touched Peter's ankle as it pressed into his hip, absently fingering the bone just above his sneaker. "We agreed to take this slow," he said. He was the reasonable one, here. He was the one that set these rules. And sometimes bent them.

"We have been," Peter said immediately. He tugged at the lapels of Bruce's lab coat. "You barely let me touch you."

Bruce sighed. "We both know that's not true."

"Well, it's not enough." Peter met his gaze; he was trying so hard, Bruce realized. He kept licking his lips as if there were words there he couldn't bring himself to say. "I mean, really. How old do I have to be?"

"Peter," Bruce said seriously. "It's not about a number. You turning eighteen doesn't automatically make this okay."

"I know, I know, I just..." Peter shrugged helplessly. "I don't understand why we have to wait when we want the same thing."

Bruce wanted to say that that was the point, but by then Peter was pulling him closer. Peter was shifting to the edge of the desk, his knees were parting to make way. By the time he leaned forward Bruce didn't have it in him to resist. He leaned forward, too, until Peter's lips could reach his.

In the past six weeks Bruce had learned at least one important fact about his secret boyfriend: Peter _loved_ kissing. It helped that he was ridiculously good at it for someone so young. His mouth was warm and tender, always eager without being too aggressive or messy. He started slowly so there was momentum to build. Each little kiss was a gentle prelude, and Bruce found himself drawn in every time. He'd never kissed someone who placed so much intimacy in the act and took so much pleasure from it, and whenever Peter's breath hitched, his did, too. When Peter shivered, it vibrated down into the pit of his stomach like nothing he'd felt in a long time.

Peter shifted again, and Bruce reached instinctively to his waist, aiding in Peter's smooth transition from the edge of the desk to Bruce's lap. The chair skidded a few inches and Peter tensed around him as if there was some chance of him falling off, but it felt like an excuse more than anything. Bruce didn't mind. It didn't take much for him to push aside his better sense and welcome Peter against him, wrapping him up. The taut muscle under his hands quickened his pulse and turned the rest of the lab into a warm blur around them. Peter was right about him: he wanted this. He loved the toned, youthful contours of Peter's lean body, loved the mounting urgency in their meeting lips. He loved how Peter melted beneath his guidance, receptive to every touch and whisper. The little sounds of pleasure he pressed against Bruce's mouth were thrilling and intoxicating. Bruce couldn't get enough.

Peter grabbed the chair's legs with his, and with that leverage he ground anxiously against Bruce's crotch. He was already hard, and Bruce groaned, wanting nothing more than to give them both what they'd had that first night and then some. He even started to, encouraging Peter to rock against him, but by then Peter's voice was growing ragged against his ear. It sounded like a warning bell.

"Wait." It took an inhuman effort, but Bruce managed to turn his face into Peter's shoulder, where he couldn't be won over by perfect kisses. "Peter. We said slow."

"I know," Peter mumbled, sliding his hands under Bruce's lab coat. When he couldn't reach Bruce's mouth, he resorted to nuzzling his temple.

"This isn't slow."

"Sure it is." Peter stuck his palms to Bruce's back, because he knew Bruce loved that. "This is _so_ slow."

"No, it's--Peter." Bruce took in a deep breath and then leaned back. When Peter tried to coerce him into another kiss, he stubbornly didn't return it. "Peter, I mean it," he said. "We have to stop."

Peter laughed against his chin. "So get your hands off my ass."

Bruce flushed--he had lost track of them at some point. With a guilty wince he forced himself to relinquish Peter's incredible ass and instead took his wrists, drawing Peter's hands out of his lab coat. "I'm sorry," he said, trying to catch his breath and his sanity.

Usually Peter sagged in disappointment before rallying himself, but that night Peter only leaned in again. He pressed a fleeting kiss to Bruce's cheek. "You miss the suit, don't you?" he whispered.

Just thinking about the cool, textured spandex beneath his fingers sent a pulse of arousal straight to Bruce's groin. He knew what he _wanted_ to say, but it somehow came out an embarrassed, "Sometimes."

And then Peter was kissing him again. Damn him. "I could come by later," he said, rubbing Bruce's chest. "After my rounds. We don't have to go any further than this." His tongue flicked hopefully against Bruce's parted lips. "Just...like this."

It was damn tempting, but then Bruce remembered. "No--you can't. I won't be here."

That got Peter's attention; he immediately leaned back. "What? Why not?"

"Tony's taking me on a field trip tonight." 

Peter looked doubtful. "You're actually going out? Like, _outside_ the tower?"

"Yes, outside the tower," said Bruce. He should have said more. Peter deserved to know what was going on, but Bruce had learned through experience it was better to be careful about how much he let Peter know. "If it goes well, I'll tell you all about it tomorrow." He turned the chair enough that he could glimpse the time on his computer monitor. "In fact, Tony will be expecting me upstairs soon."

Peter hummed. He looked tempted to press but thankfully backed down. "Okay. Have fun, then."

Bruce felt guilty, so he added, "Do you want to come up and see Tony? I'm sure he'd be interested to hear how your elbow is doing."

"That would be cheating," said Peter. "But yeah, I'd love to come up. That is..." He blushed as he at last extricated himself from Bruce's lap. "If you'll give me a minute."

Bruce smiled and waved him out. Once Peter had scampered off to the bathroom, he let out a deep breath and leaned forward, rubbing his face with both hands. All those years of breathing exercises and meditation studies were sure paying off in an unexpected way.

He was making a mistake. He was sure of that, absolutely so, and yet he couldn't bring himself to stop. No matter how many times he told himself that Peter was too young, that he deserved better, that neither of them were ready, it didn't matter. He had no defense against that smirk, that youthful enthusiasm. He tried to be careful. Peter was so willful he liked to pretend that his influence was minimal anyway, but he knew better. By being together they were changing each other, and as good as it felt he had no idea what to expect in the future.

By the time Peter returned, Bruce had shed his lab coat and gathered his papers, which Peter took an inordinate amount of humor from. "I can't believe you're in Stark Tower carrying a file folder," he teased as they rode the elevator to Tony's penthouse. "The most advanced building on the planet and he can't spare you a tablet."

"I'm old fashioned," said Bruce. He didn't dare disclose that paper was the most he'd be allowed to enter with, where he was going. He wouldn't be surprised if Peter tried to follow them as it was. "Please tell me you own real books."

"Of course I do. It just doesn't fit the image here, you know? Even us interns have Stark touchfiles to work with. You've got super access and Stark's got you in the Stone Age."

Bruce was grateful for the elevator doors opening. They stepped out together and into a slightly more animated scene than he'd expected.

"No--I said no, and I meant no," Tony was saying, while Pepper followed him in circles around the sofa. "I don't want visitors--he is not coming up here. This is my building and he's not allowed in."

"He is already _in_ the building," Pepper replied. "Security is checking him out. Come on, Tony, there's no point in putting this off."

"It is not referred to as 'putting it off' if it is, in fact, never going to happen. Which it is not."

Bruce and Peter exchanged glances as they moved closer. "I don't want to do it any more than you," Pepper was carrying on. "But he's here, which means he's saved us from having to schedule something, and--"

"Why would we schedule something?" Tony interrupted with mounting irritation. "What 'something' is there to schedule? How are you not comprehending this?"

Bruce was looking for some kind of opening when he felt Peter tense next to him. It drew his attention to a third person in the room who was wise enough to stay out of it: Steve was standing off to the side with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. When he noticed Bruce and Peter, he shrugged.

"Steve." Whatever Tony and Pepper were arguing about could wait. Bruce approached Steve and grinned when he was greeted with a handshake. "It's good to see you. You've been cleared?"

"I've been out of quarantine for a while," said Steve. "But the director took the opportunity to get my assistance on a few projects of his. You know how he is."

"So you're..." Peter started to say, but when Steve looked to him, he flinched and cleared his throat. "Um, hi, Captain."

Steve smiled. "Hello, Peter."

"So you're okay?" Peter fingered his backpack straps. "Radiation free? Two legs and two arms only?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Steve assured. If there had been any hint of tension in him when they walked up, it was already gone. "I've even stopped eating flies."

Peter laughed sheepishly. "Well, I'm really glad you're okay." His gaze darted to Tony and Pepper, who had stopped circling the sofa and were still arguing in front of JARVIS' main panel. "Um, what's going on?"

"I'm not exactly sure myself," Steve admitted. "Why don't you go find out for us?"

Peter was a sharp kid who understood a hidden meaning when he heard it. "Sure," he said, and with a smile and a half shrug in Bruce's direction he headed over. As soon as he was out of earshot Bruce turned to Steve. "Is something wrong?"

Steve pulled his wallet out, and from it produced a narrow plastic case with what seemed to be a USB drive inside. "This is all the data the SHIELD scientists gathered on me while I was in quarantine," he explained, handing it over. "I thought you might want to have it, for your research." Seeing Bruce's raised eyebrows, he added, "Fury agreed to look the other way just this once."

"Fury says 'just this once' an awful lot," Bruce said, turning the device over in his hands. He was already itching to get it down to the lab. "Thank you. I've already learned a lot from the spider, but this will be a huge help."

"I hope so." Steve didn't fidget, not the way most people did, but Bruce detected in him a slight shift, like tectonic plates settling beneath the earth's surface. "But do me a favor and keep it to yourself, all right?"

Bruce caught Steve glancing to the others in the room. "I understand," he said, and he meant it. He slipped the USB into his front shirt pocket. "I really do, so...if you need to--"

"I'm fine," Steve said quickly, and he smiled as if to prove it, but Bruce understood that, too. "But thanks."

"Christ, you're here, too?" Tony said abruptly, and he came over with Pepper and Peter trailing behind. He waved for Bruce and Steve to head for the elevator. "You can't be here for this, please, just get out."

"Tony, what is going on?" Bruce started to ask, but he was interrupted by JARVIS.

"Sir," JARVIS reported. He sounded downright apologetic. "The elevator is on its way up."

Tony rubbed his face. "All right," he said, and then he became a director, dragging Peter to one side of the room and Pepper to the other, gesturing for everyone to take positions as if they were setting up a line of defense. Bruce leaned with Peter against the far wall, his files held to his chest. He had come a long way but he didn't like surprises, and he couldn't help that the hair on the back of his neck was prickling. "Did you figure out what's going on?" he asked Peter.

"I heard the name 'Hammer,'" said Peter, and Bruce wished there was a window the two of them could escape through to safety.

The elevator door opened, and an entourage stepped out. Justin Hammer was at the head. He cleaned up remarkably well for having been released from prison only the day before; he was dressed in a handsome pinstripe suit with three pieces and a pocket square, designer glasses, white gloves. He was followed by two sturdy men in suits and two women who looked to be press. Bruce cringed but was reassured to realize there wasn't a camera in sight.

"Anthony!" Hammer greeted brightly, and Tony looked ready to molt out of his skin. "I knew you weren't going to make it easy on me, God bless you, but the security here is a bit much, don't you think?" He eyed the man on his left.

"Says the man who brought a bodyguard," replied Tony, eyeing the man on Hammer's right. "You do remember it was _you_ who tried to kill _me_ , right?"

Hammer laughed, louder than was necessary and completely grating. "Please, you know better. Why would I ever want to hurt you?" He waved at Pepper who had, despite a look from Tony, joined them at Tony's side. "You don't really believe I meant for any of that to happen, do you, Ms. Potts?"

"Of course not," said Pepper, as gracious and politic as ever, her sarcasm carefully buried. "Congratulations on your release."

"Thank you so much." Hammer glanced behind him. "Can I introduce you? These are--"

"Miranda West and Tammy Reynolds," Pepper said for him. "We've met."

As the women exchanged a few pleasantries and Tony tried not to vomit, Peter leaned in to Bruce's ear. "Isn't that the guy who...?"

"Justin Hammer, former CEO of Hammer Industries," Bruce whispered back. "It's a long story."

"What do you _want_?" Tony was saying impatiently. "Is this some kind of PR stunt? Because I really don't have time for this, I was just about to--"

"It's not a stunt," said Hammer. "Really. I know this is a little..." he smiled sheepishly, "...awkward, but I want to apologize for what happened at your event."

"You want to apologize?" Pepper repeated.

"Yes, absolutely. For my part of it, of course." He sighed. "It's so hard when you realize you've put your trust in the wrong person. But such is business, right? So here it is, straight from me to you." He bowed his head. "I'm sorry."

Tony stared. "You're sorry."

Hammer nodded wholeheartedly. "I really am. I know it might take a while to repair these bridges, but what's a few accidents between friends, right?"

"We're not friends," Tony said. He looked to the reporters. "If you came here for a quote, there it is. Put it on the record: Justin Hammer and I were never friends."

"Tony," Pepper said gently.

"No, seriously. I want it on the record."

"'Justin Hammer and Tony Stark were never friends,'" said Miranda, her tone vaguely flirting as she tapped on her phone.

"Did you get that?" said Tony.

"Yes, Mr. Stark. It's on the record."

Hammer didn't reply right away. He stared at Tony, smiling, but when Bruce looked closely he could see the tension in Hammers hands as they clasped behind his back. Muscles twitched in his jaw. Bruce knew hate when he saw it. It made his skin crawl.

"Well. That's a shame." Hammer straightened up and was all cheer again. "Like I said, I'm sure it will take a while. It's not like we have anything to fight over anymore, with the company out of my hands. You're gonna miss me when it's just you and ol' Norman Osborn, you know."

Tony muttered something that sounded like "doubt it," but by then Hammer's attention had wavered. He had spotted Steve, who had not done as good a job of retreating to the sidelines. "Oh, excuse me," said Hammer. "I didn't know I was interrupting company."

Steve reluctantly joined them while Bruce started looking for escape routes. "Steve Rogers," he introduced himself. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Hammer."

"Pleasure's mine," Hammer replied, extending his hand. As soon as Steve took it, Hammer flinched as if from a chill. "Wow, that is quite a grip you have!" He continued to shake Steve's hand longer than seemed appropriate. "You're not security, are you? My goodness."

Steve frowned awkwardly. "Um..."

"He's a friend," said Pepper. "Actually, we were just about to step out, so--"

"That is really something," Hammer prattled on. "Are you just as strong with the left?" He let go with one hand only to extend the other, and Steve had little choice but to take it. "Ah, of course you are. I'm impressed, Mr. Rogers. Or is it Sergeant Rogers, maybe? You have the look of a military man on you. I would know."

Tony stepped between them. "I'm really sorry to cut this short, seriously, but we have to go."

Hammer let go, but he didn't look to be in any hurry to leave. "Of course I don't want to keep you, but..." He finally noticed Bruce and Peter, who cringed beneath his enthusiastic grin. "Everyone's so shy!" he declared, and as Bruce had dreaded, he headed straight for them. "You weren't going to introduce us at all."

"That's because..." Tony started to say, but Hammer had already moved on.

"Justin Hammer." Hammer took Bruce's hand and shook it, and it wasn't until he was trying to slip out of the sweaty grip that Bruce realized he'd removed his gloves. "More of Anthony's friends?"

"Bruce Bancroft," Bruce introduced helplessly. "Dr. Bruce Bancroft. I work here."

"Ah, excellent." Hammer looked to Peter. "You look a little young to be an engineer," he said.

Bruce's stomach turned with a sudden, overprotective instinct. "He's an intern in my department," he said before Peter could give up a name. "Very bright."

"Nice to meet you, sir." Peter shook Hammer's hand as well. Usually he _was_ very bright, but he still went ahead and said, "I saw your demonstration at the Stark Expo. You put on quite a show."

Hammer's eyes pinched when he grinned. "You were there? That's great, good for you. Did you get a little something for yourself out of the lawsuit?"

"No, sir. Just a ticket refund. I wasn't hurt."

"Well, that's good. And a shame. Right?" He clapped Peter on the shoulder, and Bruce had to look away. "I'd set you up myself if I could, but, well. You know how it is."

"I'm very sorry," Pepper intervened, her hand tight on Tony's elbow as if he'd tried to slip away. "But I'm afraid we really do have dinner plans waiting for us."

"Of course--I understand." When Hammer turned away Bruce almost breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll leave you happy people alone. Have a good evening." He shook Pepper's hand, didn't try for Tony's, and turned to leave with his entourage. Just as he reached the elevator, though, he turned back. "It's _Captain_ Rogers, isn't it?" he said with a secretive grin.

"Goodbye, Hammer," said Tony.

Hammer laughed, but he at last showed himself out. Everyone exchanged glances in his wake. Peter broke the silence first.

"What a douchebag," he declared.

"This is a smart kid." Tony hooked his arm around Peter's shoulders and herded him away from the wall. "He really is. Are we paying him? We should be."

Bruce hung back, staring at the elevator. It had been such a trivial, pointless exchange, but it had worked under his skin somehow and he was having a hard time straightening his nerves out. As Peter and Tony tried to discuss the intern competition in legal terms, Bruce couldn't help but think back to the look Hammer had given Tony, his eyes glossy with unspoken resentment. The sickeningly fake niceties he had spewed at them were hiding more than a simple grudge.

"Dr. Banner?" Steve caught his eye. "Is everything all right?"

"Hm? Oh, yes." Bruce shook himself. "I don't do so well with people like that."

"No one does," Steve said, chuckling.

"Bruce, say you're ready to go," Tony pleaded as they rejoined the group. "We need to get out of here so the sanitation crew can come in."

"Yes, I'm ready." He felt Peter move to his side, and warm fingers brushed the back of his, but he didn't take them. 

After wishing Pepper a good evening, the four of them rode the elevator down together. "Soooo," Peter drawled as Bruce finally logged him out. "Where are we going?"

Bruce smiled. "I told you, you'll hear all about it later." He cast a quick glance in Tony's direction even though he trusted him not to say anything. "Can we call you a cab, or will you be swinging home?"

"I can give him a ride," Steve offered. "I took the bike."

"Sure," Peter said almost too quickly, grinning. "I'll ride with Cap."

Tony made a crack, but Bruce was relieved. Despite pleasant beginnings the evening had already taken a turn for the strange, and would doubtlessly only get worse. He tried to shake the sensation as he watched Steve and Peter speed away on the motorcycle, but it stayed lodged behind his ribs, a dull and persistent premonition.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Tony asked as the limo pulled around for them. "I can go myself, if you really need the information."

"No, I'm fine." Bruce took a deep breath and willed it to be true. "I said I would do this, and I meant it. I'm ready."

They climbed into the limo together just as another turned the corner at the end of the street.

***

"Fate is in the timing," Hammer said as he smoothed his white gloves flat and closed a glass case around them. "My first cellmate told me that. He would know, right? If only the cops were three minutes slower--"

"Hammer," Ross barked through the phone Hammer had tucked against his shoulder. "What do you have for me?"

Hammer mouthed the words back at him. "I have Christmas for you," he said. He pressed a few buttons on the top of the case and then settled back in the cozy limo seat. "Stark, Rogers, _and_ Banner having a grand ol' time in the penthouse. Don't you have a missile you can level at that tower or something?"

"Are you sure?"

"Banner was using a fake name, of course, but I recognized him from the file you gave me." Hammer pulled the phone away from his ear and checked the picture again, just to be sure. "Yup, I'm pretty positive. And Mr. Muscles introduced himself as Steve Rogers. Either he's honest to a fault or a seriously deluded lab rat." The case blinked at him with its results, and he grinned. "The ayes have it: fingerprints match his old file. You've got yourself a remarkably well-preserved geriatric soldier."

"It's impossible," Ross muttered. "To have survived seven decades in ice..."

"Maybe Norman should give that a try. I'm sure it'll do wonders for his complexion."

Osborn cleared his throat on the other line. "If he's living in New York under the name Steve Rogers, my men will find him," he said. "It shouldn't take long."

"The general location should be enough," added Ross. "We can start tonight. If you're up for it, Hammer."

"I was up before you were," said Hammer, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Trust me, gentlemen, you hold up your end and I'll bring you bacon. Just give me the signal."

"You'll know when you see it," said Ross, and he hung up.

Hammer mouthed that back at him, too. "Norman, come on. What do you see in that guy?"

"I don't," said Osborn. "But we need him, for now."

Hammer chuckled. "My thoughts exactly." He hung up and immediately dialed a new number. "'For now.' How ominous." He continued to laugh to himself until the call connected and it was back to business.


	3. Chapter 3

New York City in the evening was a very different experience from inside Tony's limousine. The tinted windows let in only the barest amount of warm summer light, and the roar of passing cars and curses was dulled to a murmur. Even rush hour traffic didn't seem so dreadful when sinking into leather seats, classic rock playing quietly from the speakers.

"When Fury had me brought in, everyone suggested smooth jazz," said Bruce, watching what he could of the scenery. "I'm starting to hate it."

"We call that 'progress,'" said Tony.

Bruce smiled, but his good humor didn't last for long. His mind was already far ahead, practicing for the encounter awaiting him. "Do you think I should have told him?" he asked.

"Told who what?"

"Peter." Bruce stopped looking out the window. "He has the right to know, it being his genetic code and all."

"Do you really think that's my call?" said Tony. "Hell, I wasn't any good with teenagers even when I was one. You know what he can handle better than me, Bruce."

"From a moral standpoint," Bruce persisted. "Is it wrong of me to keep it from him?"

Tony's eyebrows rose. "I'm pretty sure you don't want me to examine your relationship with Peter from a moral standpoint."

He was teasing. Bruce knew that if Tony had a serious objection he would have stated it already; Tony was very forthright when he felt he needed to be, but so far he had managed only the occasional "cradle-robber" joke when no one else was in earshot. Whether or not that counted as a blessing, Bruce wasn't sure and didn't care to find out. He had the feeling that if Tony ever declared his support directly, he would think less of him for it.

"Fair enough," said Bruce. 

The limousine took them to Rikers Island. They were greeted at the entrance and, thanks to clearance granted through SHIELD, were sped through security and taken directly to the Protected Prisoner's ward in the easternmost building of the compound. Everyone was precise and professional but it still put Bruce on edge just to see the lines of pressed uniforms and holstered weapons. He told himself a dozen times that no one knew who he was and that Fury's influence was enough to keep him from being a target even if they did. He wasn't just a monster these days. He had saved the planet--he was a hero. Everyone knew better than to try anything against him.

When they came to the final checkpoint Bruce was forced to give up the USB he had forgotten to take out of his pocket. Seeing him hesitate to hand it over, Tony offered to hang back and hold onto it. Bruce wasn't sure he liked that, either, but ultimately he relented. He traveled the last hall alone.

Two officers showed him into the meeting room. It was divided in half by a long table and sheets of bulletproof glass. A strange sense of déjà vu came over Bruce as he edged closer, remembering a time when he had assumed this would be his future. Somewhere in a parallel universe he was sure this same scenario was playing out with the roles reversed--with him in an orange prison jumper and Dr. Curt Connors sliding into a chair across from him.

Curt was waiting for him. He had never been an easy man to read, but Bruce thought he saw pleasant surprise behind his cheap, prison-issue bifocals. Bruce cleared his throat, and once he was settled, he said, "Hello, Dr. Connors."

"Doctor," Curt greeted in kind. Bruce was deeply relieved that Curt knew not to use his name. "You're not at all who I expected when they said I had a visitor."

"Who were you expecting?" Bruce asked.

Curt smiled grimly. "The living."

That made Bruce smile, too. "There's something I could say here, about rumors of my death--"

"Greatly exaggerated, I see."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"No." Curt shifted uncomfortably. "No, believe me, I am...glad to see you."

He sounded sincere, almost heart-breakingly so. "Why would you be?" asked Bruce.

"Because while I admired your work, Doctor, you and I were never more than professional acquaintances." Curt leaned forward against his elbow. "If you've gone through the trouble to see me now, it must be that you need my help with something."

Bruce was all too grateful to move on to business. "I can't say you're wrong," he said, waving his guard over. "Please take this to Dr. Connors--it's been cleared." He turned back. "The truth is I have a sequence of DNA I'd like for you to take a look at. Of course, it's only a small portion of the sample I've been working with, but I was limited to paper--for this visit, at least."

Curt eyed the door to his side with an almost hungry look. It made Bruce ache and he wished there was someone else he could have gone to, even knowing what it meant to Curt for him to be there. "It's from a human male," Bruce continued to explain as the guard reappeared with the papers. "If my hunch is correct, you'll understand why it caught my eye."

Curt accepted the file and immediately flipped it open. He pored over the lines of code, silently mouthing along as he took in the results of Bruce's research. Just as Bruce had suspected, a look of blank shock came over him. He lifted his eyes. "This is from a _human_ subject?"

Bruce watched him very carefully. He was cautious of the men in the room, but he needed answers all the same. "You know whose DNA this is, don't you," he said.

Perspiration shone on Curt's forehead as he went back to studying the papers. His enthusiasm was suddenly replaced with suspicion and guilt. "How did you get this sample?"

"Does that matter?"

"Of course it matters." Curt glanced to him briefly and then away. He swallowed hard. "He doesn't deserve to be anyone's guinea pig."

Bruce clenched his fists beneath the table. "I know," he said. "I know that better than you do." He swallowed and forced himself to move on before he said something he would regret. "And I'm here because I'm trying to help him. He gave me this sample willingly, Curt. And I know what I'm seeing in it has to do with what I've seen in your work. If you can explain to me why that is, I hope that you will."

Curt met his gaze, judging. It took several long moments for him to decide Bruce was trustworthy, but Bruce didn't press. At long last he leaned back and scraped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Does he know you're here?" he asked quietly.

"No." Bruce leaned closer and folded his hands on the table. "Whether I decide to tell him will depend on what you can tell me."

Curt took in a deep breath and cast a quick glance at the guards. "Years ago, I dedicated myself to a project," he said, choosing each word carefully. "I had a partner, and I could not have asked for a better one. Every breakthrough came from him, including..." After another moment of consideration he set his hand on the table and crawled his fingers across it.

Bruce wasn't sure if Curt was being too cautious or not enough, but he nodded. "Yes, I know who and what you're talking about."

"As it turned out," Curt went on, "it wasn't enough to help me with my particular problem. At the time I wasn't even aware of how significant his discovery truly was. Because you see, the most difficult part of cross-species genetics has always been rejection on the part of the host. He solved that by introducing this sequence--" he tapped the folder "--at the earliest stages of the host's conception. He _created_ a hybrid organism nearly from scratch."

Bruce felt the hairs rising on the back of his neck. "Created it using this particular DNA?"

"I can't be certain," he reluctantly admitted. He grimaced. "I know that human DNA was used, while what you've given me is not, not entirely. But the homologous genes indicate a common ancestry that is, of course, impossible between these species in nature." He shifted in his chair, looking again as if he were assessing the danger posed by their audience. "This sample of yours was at one point unequivocally human, yes?"

"As far as I'm aware," said Bruce.

"But now..." Curt pursed his lips. "I suspected there was...something special about him, but I was in no state to make sense of it." His self-loathing was palpable. "Can you tell me what happened to him? Was it something I did?"

"I don't have his permission to tell you that," said Bruce. "And I think you'd need to earn lesser security visitation for me to say it, anyway."

Curt grimaced with frustration they shared. "Then I'm not certain there's anything I can tell you."

"Just one more thing," Bruce said quickly. "If you knew the hybrid was created using human DNA, why did you not continue that line of research? From what I've read, your process has never involved introducing foreign DNA at such an early stage."

"Because it would not have helped me personally, as selfish as that is. What good would a new species of lizard have done me?" Curt shook his head. "Not to mention such an experiment would be strictly illegal even as a theory, though you may have realized that Oscorp is not all that concerned with that sort of thing. There...was a short time when I experimented, but my choice of samples was never sufficient." 

"What about introducing the DNA of the hybrid your partner created into a human host?" Bruce suggested.

"Again, never past the stage of theory. Every simulation I conducted indicated a hundred percent mortality rate." He looked to the file with regret. "Perhaps I gave up too soon, considering this sample..."

Curt straightened. His eyes widened with that same expression Bruce had seen on many scientists, himself included. He understood exactly what had happened and he faced Bruce with a mouthful of questions he couldn't ask. 

"I'm new to this field," Bruce said before Curt could say too much. "But I'm a fast learner, and I've done some experimenting of my own. I am convinced that the kind of cohesion demonstrated by this sample would be nearly impossible to duplicate using any other combination, so much so that I can't help but wonder..." He felt vaguely ill but he pressed on. "...if the host was engineered that way, as you said, at the time of conception. By your partner."

Curt went very still, his eyes downcast and heavy. "You can't be asking what I think you are."

"Like you said, legality doesn't mean anything to an Oscorp scientist," said Bruce, unable to hide an undercurrent of bitterness in his voice. "And I can't explain this sample otherwise. I don't believe it was random chance that made this fusion possible, and it's certainly no coincidence. So tell me the truth."

"I don't know," Curt murmured. "Please don't ask me that. I honestly don't know."

Bruce gulped. He had so many questions, but Curt wouldn't look at him, and the suddenly mournful air was starting to make Bruce's skin crawl. He didn't want to be there anymore and he thought of Peter's hand in his. "All right," he said. He leaned back. "Then I don't think there's anything else for us to talk about. But you can keep that, if you want."

"Yes, thank you." Curt closed the file and left his hand on it protectively. "If I'm able to think of anything that will help, how can I reach you?"

"Ask for Director Nick Fury. It's because of him that I was able to come here tonight." Bruce pushed to his feet. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Connors. I appreciate it."

"Can you..." Curt rubbed his mouth and still didn't look up. "Please, tell him how sorry I am."

"He knows," said Bruce.

Curt shook his head. "No he doesn't. Not this."

Bruce frowned at him, curiosity burning at his edges, but his nerves had had enough. "I will," he said, and though he wasn't sure why, he added, "If I ever need help with another project, I will let you know."

Curt finally met his gaze, and though his smile was pained, it was sincere. "Thank you, Bruce."

The guard let him out. The heavy slam of the door behind them, with all its crisp finality, startled Bruce's heart into his throat. He closed his eyes and tried not to think of the tiny cell Curt would be going back to, or the faces of his wife and son reflected in the safety glass on visitation day, the look of shame and regret etched so deeply in his features--

"Sir?" The guard stepped closer. "Are you all right?"

"Please don't touch me," Bruce said reflexively.

The guard stopped, his hands raised. "I...wasn't going to?"

Bruce let his breath out and faced the man with a weary smile. "Sorry; I'm fine. We can go, now."

"It's all right," said the guard as they turned back down the hallway. "He gives me the creeps sometimes, too." Bruce winced, but he didn't reply.

Tony was waiting at the security checkpoint where Bruce had left him. When he realized that Bruce wasn't about to slow down, he fell into step next to him, and together they headed back through security and into the hall. "Judging by your face, it didn't go so well," he said. "Did you get anything out of him?"

"Nothing I didn't already suspect going in," said Bruce, staring straight ahead. "He recognized the sample. I'll tell you the rest once we..."

The door at the far end of the hall opened, and his breath died in his throat.

An entourage entered, made up of armed men in SWAT uniforms and full gear. Bruce's eyes leapt from their rifle barrels to their face masks and then to the man in the lead: an all too familiar chest full of brass. Their eyes met. Bruce's heart began to pound, thundering into his ears like a warning bell, but as he started looking for escape routes Tony took his hand. He twined their fingers together and squeezed like they were fourth-graders about to face down a school bully. Tony was pretty much the best friend he had ever had.

General Ross didn't break stride as he and his men drew closer. His face was a sculpted blank; he wasn't even looking at them. Bruce kept waiting for him to give the signal with a wave of his hand--for the men with their tiny toy guns to charge, and then everything would go green and black. But nothing happened. They were within three steps of each other when Tony stepped to the side, drawing Bruce with him, and Ross continued past.

"General Ross," Tony greeted with a stiff nod of his head.

"Mr. Stark," Ross acknowledged in kind. The corner of his eye twitched. "Bruce."

Bruce didn't reply. He was still waiting for the command that could potentially render all of Rikers Island to rubble, even after Ross was past him and still going. He could barely breathe and sweat was on his brow. When he couldn't take it anymore he pulled Tony to a halt and turned.

"Is that it?" he called.

Ross stopped, and his men stopped with him. He turned. "Do you have something to say to me?"

Bruce stared in helpless confusion. "No."

"Then, yes. That's it." Ross started to continue on.

Bruce let go of Tony's hand and pursued several steps. "What are you doing here, General?"

"You can rest easy--I'm not here for you."

Bruce's jaws clenched, and he increased his pace. "You expect me to believe this is--"

"Bruce." Tony had his hand again. "Come on," he said quietly. "There are other ways to find out."

Bruce wasn't finished, but he allowed Tony to tug him away. He watched, frustrated and wary, until Ross and his men passed through the far door and into security. "This isn't a coincidence," he said under his breath. "If he's here, it's because of me."

Tony continued to herd him toward the exit. "Fury says he's been taken off your case. They reclassified your file above his clearance."

"Then what the hell is he doing here?" Bruce scraped his hand over his mouth and glanced back again. "That man hunted me for six years. I've been in the city for weeks, and the first time I leave the tower _he's_ out here waiting?"

"Don't make me break out the smooth jazz," Tony warned.

It finally occurred to Bruce why Tony was pulling him out the door, as obvious as it should have been. He took a deep breath and held it, assuring himself that he was still in control. "I'm all right," he said. "I am. I'm just..." He blanched all over again. "Damn it, he must be here for Curt. But why? They said the drug is out of his system--he's not a threat let alone a weapon without that serum."

Tony slipped his phone out of his pocket. "We're going to find out," he said confidently. "One way or the other. Just stay with me, Bruce."

"I told you, I'm fine." Bruce grimaced when he remembered that he had left his papers with Curt. Hopefully, they would mean nothing to someone not familiar with the sample they had been drawn from. "Let's just get out of here," he said increasing his pace.

***

Peter enjoyed his ride home with Steve more than he thought he should have. The last time they had seen each other, he had turned the poor man into a rampaging spider-monster--and he still felt guilty--but it was hard to think about that with the rush of evening air and a strong body to lean into. He already had the guy he wanted, but he hadn't forgotten that night in Steve's apartment and the revelations it had helped him reach. His face was as red as his spider-mask the whole way back to his home in Queens.

Peter hopped off as soon as they'd stopped. "Thanks for the ride, Captain," he said, playing with the straps of his backpack. He shifted his weight back and forth. "Look, um, I just want to say I'm sorry."

"Peter." Steve smiled patiently. "I've already accepted your apology."

"Yeah--I know." Peter stopped himself before he started fidgeting again; he wanted Steve to know he was serious. "But I don't just mean about the spider and what happened with it. I mean..."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "You mean the armed robbery and thousands of dollars in property damage before it?"

"Hey, I wasn't...armed." Peter shrugged helplessly. "But yeah. That's what I mean."

Steve shut off the motorcycle engine and faced Peter with equal seriousness. "I know why you did it," he said. "It's not like I never broke the rules for something I felt I had to do. It's not my job to judge you for that. And when all's said and done, you've certainly done more good for this city than harm."

Peter gulped. "But...?"

"But if you try anything like that again, I will _make_ it my job. You and I weren't given gifts so that we could use them for ourselves. So stay out of trouble, for your own sake and mine." He glanced past Peter. "I know where you live now."

Peter laughed nervously, but was cut off from answering by the creak of the screen door. "Peter?" Aunt May called. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, hey!" Peter glanced behind him and back again. "Hey, Cap. Um, you wanna come up? Meet my Aunt May?"

Steve smiled, and their brief moment of tension easily passed. "Sure."

Aunt May's eyes couldn't have been wider as Peter led Steve up to the porch. "Aunt May, this is Captain Steve Rogers," he introduced proudly. "He's one of Mr. Stark's friends. Captain, this is my aunt, May Parker."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," said Steve.

Aunt May blushed darker than Peter as she shook his hand. "The pleasure's mine. And thank you, for bringing Peter home. I hope it wasn't too far out of your way."

"Not at all. I'm just a few hops away, in Brooklyn."

"Would you like to come in for some dinner?" May offered, and Peter froze, uncertain if he ought to try to prevent her or not. "It's only spaghetti and meatballs, but it's just off the stove."

"Thank you," Steve said, "but I wouldn't want to impose..."

"Of course you wouldn't be. And I always make too much for just Peter and me." Peter winced, but Aunt Mary carried on without falter. "Now don't tell me a fine young Brooklyn boy is going to turn down a home cooked meal."

Steve chuckled with his adorable hero's bashfulness and finally nodded. "All right. Thank you."

***

Security showed Tony and Bruce back to their limousine, and it wasn't until they were inside and on their way off the island that Bruce really began to relax. By then Tony had managed to get in contact with Fury personally, and was relaying to him having met General Ross. Bruce didn't bother to try and overhear. He stared out the windows, watching the dark water of the bay stretch out to either side of them. It was calming, and the further they went, the more obvious it became that Ross had no intention of following them after all.

Tony hung up. "Fury says he didn't know about Ross being in town," he relayed. "He's putting someone on it."

"It must be Dr. Connors," said Bruce. "He's following up on our fight with Steve from two months ago. But why has it taken him this long?"

"He'll show his hand soon enough, I'm sure. He isn't exactly known for being subtle." Tony offered Bruce a bottle of water from the limousine's door cache. "For now, tell me what you got out of Connors."

Bruce sighed, but he accepted the bottle and took a few long gulps. It helped. "I was right about the spider," he said. "Peter was bitten by a spider his father created. Its DNA was altered when it was still in its larval stage, using human DNA." His hands tightened around the bottle. "In all likelihood, Peter's DNA."

Tony looked skeptical. "You're saying that spider was already part-Peter _before_ it bit him?"

"It's only a theory." Bruce took another long drink. "The spiders have been breed for years since Dr. Parker created the first batch. And without a sample of Peter's DNA from before the bite, we might never know for sure. But I tested that spider's venom on blood samples from over a dozen people--including you--and it's clear to me that anyone else would have died, had they been exposed. The combination of the venom and radiation is lethal to humans, except Peter."

"And Rogers," Tony reminded him.

"And Rogers." Bruce straightened. "Do you still have that flash drive?"

"Of course." Tony started to hand it over, but pulled back when Bruce reached for it. Bruce's glare forced him to give in. "Don't worry," he said. "I'm not interested in Rogers' nude pics anyway."

Bruce tucked the drive back into his pocket. "Listen, Tony," he said. "Steve asked me not--"

"I figured." Tony grabbed a water for himself and settled deeper into his seat. "Which means there's more on that thing than vital readings and blood analysis, right?"

"I don't know yet," said Bruce, though he had already gone through a great deal of speculation. He licked his lips. "Don't take it personally."

Tony snorted. "Who says I am?"

"What Steve went through isn't something that most people can understand," Bruce continued anyway. "Having your autonomy stripped away like that. Not being in control of your own body."

"You don't think I know something about that?" Tony said.

Bruce tensed. He wanted to say no, Tony didn't understand--not what had happened to Steve, what happened to Bruce himself. Having a machine in your chest wasn't anything like having your identity twisted into something monstrous. He held himself back, though. He didn't want to argue with anyone let alone Tony.

"I'm sorry," said Bruce. "It's not up to me."

"I wasn't asking you to show me anyway. I just wish Rogers wasn't thinking I'd be an asshole about it, if I did see whatever's on there."

Bruce couldn't help but smile. "To be fair," he said, "sometimes you're an asshole."

Tony rolled his eyes as he pulled out his phone again. "Today has sucked," he declared. "I'm telling Pepper she'd better have pizza waiting for us when we get back."

Bruce sat back and watched him dial. He thought of Tony gripping his hand in the prison and wanted to say something, but he didn't know where to start. So instead he said, "No onions this time, please."

***

Having Captain America over for dinner was one of the stranger experiences in Peter's already strange life. He was endlessly polite, complimenting Aunt May on her cooking and listening attentively to her work stories. Peter talked about his internship and was proud of himself in that he didn't mention Bruce and didn't blush. It wasn't a long dinner, as Steve made quick work of everything Aunt May offered, but for a while it felt both incredibly surreal and disarmingly natural. It had been a long time since there had been a third person at the table.

"Sorry about Aunt May," Peter said as he saw Steve out--only after Steve had insisted on helping with the dishes. "When she gets talking about work, she hardly ever stops."

"You don't have to apologize," said Steve, zipping up his jacket. "It was a good time, and I haven't had a meal like that in a while."

"Same here," said Peter even though he knew they meant entirely different things. "And..." He drew himself up. "I won't forget what you said before, Captain."

He smiled and gave Peter a clap on the shoulder. "I know you won't. You're a good kid, Peter." He turned back toward his bike. "Keep your nose clean."

"You, too!" Peter called after him. He watched from the porch until Steve and his bike were long gone down the street.

"Your friend is really something," Aunt May said as Peter rejoined her in the kitchen. "I was beginning to think there weren't any young men left with such good manners!"

"I'm well-mannered." Peter hopped onto the counter.

Aunt May made a face, but she was still too charmed by their guest to remain properly annoyed with him. "You can tell him he's welcome back any time. It doesn't sound like he gets out much."

Peter frowned thoughtfully. "I wouldn't know." He peeked in the cookie jar next to the breadbox and found it empty. "I just know him through...you know, the tower. But he's a stand-up guy, and a real soldier."

"And handsome," said May, and the teasing in her voice threatened to make Peter blush all over again.

"I wouldn't know about that, either," Peter said reflexively.

Aunt May glanced over. Her face was always easy to read, and tonight it said, _Oh Peter, you know I know already_ , but just as she opened her mouth she noticed Peter opening the refrigerator. "Peter, you cannot still be hungry," she admonished.

Peter leaned into the fridge. "I'm just looking." He heard her coming over but he stayed still, too nervous to see that face of hers again. He knew it was stupid. Aunt May had had his number before he did, and there wasn't any reason to pretend otherwise, but still he held back. It made his heart sink to think of all the things he wasn't telling her.

Aunt May touched the top of his head, holding him in place while she opened the freezer door with her free hand. After a moment of rummaging she closed it and freed Peter. "Here," she said, handing him a wrapped Popsicle. "This is all you're getting for tonight, so make it last."

Peter's sigh was secretly relief. He hopped off the counter. "Thanks, Aunt May." He kissed her cheek. "For letting the Captain stay. I'm glad you like him."

"I'm glad you do, too," she replied.

Peter tensed for only a moment before he was able to force out a thin laugh. "It's not like that." He headed for the stairs.

Aunt May followed after him. "Every once in a while you come home from that tower with googley-eyes," she said. "I'm just glad to know why."

"My eyes don't google," Peter said as he retreated toward the second floor.

"But I think he's a little too old for you!"

"It's not like that!" he said again, and a few long strides later, he was safe in his room with the door closed and locked behind him. "A little too old," he muttered to himself as he thumped down in front of his computer. "What does that make Bruce?"

He didn't want to think about what that made Bruce. He didn't want to worry if Aunt May would find out and what she would think when she did. Steve finding out wasn't an encouraging thought, either. There was a lot to consider and plenty of reason for concern, but when Peter closed his eyes, Bruce was still the only thing on his mind.

He remembered the spark in Bruce's eyes when their gazes met across the intern lab. He relived the rise of butterflies in his stomach when their fingers tangled outside the elevator. He _felt_ Bruce's hands sliding to his waist, welcoming him down, into his lap, into his arms. And he wanted more.

Peter laughed at himself as he ripped open his Popsicle and tossed the wrapper away. "You're so stupid," he said, kicking his shoes off. "Get a grip, Parker." He stuck the Popsicle in his mouth and hunched over his computer, trying to distract himself with email and the police's most recent wanted lists, but his day had been just too good. His heart was light, and his skin still felt warm with the imprints of two firm bodies, and he could hear the echoes of Bruce's heavy breath in his ears...

Peter made sure his door was locked and then reached for his fly. He still didn't understand why Bruce insisted on going slow when he came home to this almost every night anyway. To him it might as well have been Bruce reaching down the front of his boxers, drawing his cock free, stroking it quickly to fullness. His own vivid imagination--with the help of the occasional internet porn--made it easy to pretend he was with Bruce in all manner of situations and positions. There were even times he slipped into one of his old, out-of-use suits to better relive that night in the lab. But tonight, his attention was drawn to the Popsicle.

"Stupid," Peter muttered again. He glanced around the room in unwarranted paranoia and checked the door lock one more time as his cheeks flushed with embarrassed arousal. Once his was absolutely sure of his privacy, he sealed his lips to the cherry and sucked. It was ridiculous to think it passed as even a crude facsimile, but just the thought that he was _practicing_ made him tingle all over. He rolled his lips over his teeth, determined not to harm his dessert-dildo in any ominous way. That concern quickly faded. With one hand still working over his cock he sucked the Popsicle deeper into his mouth. He traced its subtle square edges with the tip of his tongue and forgot how ridiculous he must have looked, how ashamed he should have been.

Sweet sugary syrup dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He lapped it up, his lips smacking obscenely in the quiet room. Bruce would probably have passed out if he could see him then. Peter let go of the stick just long enough to shove his pants down and then spread his knees wider as if Bruce was there to take in the show. He smiled at the thought of Bruce's eyes on him, his brow furrowing with disapproval even as his excitement was obvious. Peter was happy to perform. With increasing enthusiasm and no shred of dignity he slid the Popsicle back and forth, lapping and sucking, swirling his tongue playfully over the tip like some wannabe Sean Cody rentboy. Bruce would love it. Bruce would pant and resist and _beg_ to have a turn, and Peter wanted that so badly that his cock ached.

Peter tried to keep it up as long as possible, but his stamina was still not a stable thing. Climax came on him suddenly, his fist pumping urgently as his muscles locked and pure pleasure clamped his jaws over the end of his Popsicle. He felt his teeth go through the wood, and a glob of melting cherry slid to the back of his throat and almost made him gag. Coughing and laughing, he managed to spit out the snapped tip without getting any splinters. He regarded the broken stick with a grimace.

"Oops." His face was redder than ever as he sucked off the last of the Popsicle and tossed the stick in the trash. "Well, that's why it's practice." He laughed at himself some more.

Peter cleaned up with some tissue, and when the coast seemed clear he dashed into the bathroom for a more thorough job and a piss. He was contemplating a shower when Aunt May's voice from the downstairs made him go rigid. It wasn't the worst timing she'd ever had, at least.

By the time Peter bounded downstairs, his face was no longer red--just his lips, but even the most chaste of Popsicle eating wouldn't have prevented that. "Aunt May?" He could hear the television playing the evening news and followed it, finding May on the sofa. "Everything all right?"

"--still no sign of Dr. Curt Connors, after his transport vehicle was overturned on the Rikers Island Bridge," the anchorwoman was saying, and Peter's heart sank into his shoes. He leaned both hands against the back of the sofa and watched, eyes wide, as a news chopper swooped in low over what looked like a crash of several cars and vans atop a bridge he didn't immediately recognize. "As of this report the authorities are considering this an escape attempt, and officers have been dispatched in force to recapture him."

Peter's shoulder's sagged. "Oh no."

Aunt May looked up at him. She seemed to try and say a few things, but in the end she closed her mouth without having made a sound. She only nodded. Peter clenched his hands against the sofa frame but his words didn't make it any further than hers. With a smile that was mostly grimace he turned and raced back upstairs.

Someday, they _would_ talk about it.


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce stared at the flash drive for a long time before finally inserting it into the computer in his room. It opened several folders containing dozens of files, none of which were labeled in any kind of immediately understandable way. He shook his head at SHIELD's lack of organization and clicked on the first file. It was a radiation analysis, monitoring Steve's condition over a span of days. Bruce leaned into his folded hands as he scanned the report, noting that, as he'd expected, the radiation presented by Oscorp's spider wasn't significant enough to have leave any lasting effects in its victim. Within thirty-six hours of the bite Steve had been, biologically, back to his standard of normal.

Bruce clicked through another few files. He was too tired to take time with them, but he separated them into folders based on how useful they seemed. It wasn't until he reached a folder labeled PVI that he was given significant pause. It held video files. Bruce frowned into his knuckles and finally clicked on the first of them.

It was footage from a security camera aimed at a mostly empty room. Two chairs served as the only furniture and in one of them was Steve. He had his hands in his lap, his posture stiff as if he was making a concentrated effort to be obedient and still. After only a moment, the door opened, and Natasha stepped inside.

The angle of the camera didn't allow for Bruce to make out either of their facial expressions, but Steve's voice was uneasy with fake humor when he said, "I didn't know you were a psychiatrist."

Natasha took the seat opposite him. "I do a lot of different things for SHIELD," she said. "Right now I'm just here to talk. And maybe dive back out that door, if something happens."

"I feel fine."

"I know you do." Natasha looked like she was reclining easily, but there was no telling with her. She was probably coiled to spring at any moment. "But that's not what your chart is saying about you. So we need to talk."

Bruce stopped the video. He rubbed his face with both hands and told himself there wasn't any reason to be anxious. Steve had given him permission to see it. It was important that he watch. He didn't want to. He knew what was going to happen and it made him sick to his stomach.

Someone knocked on the door. Bruce jumped--when had been the last time someone knocked? Then he remembered that he'd cut his room off from JARVIS so that he could view the files in peace. "Come in!" he called.

Pepper leaned in through the door. "Bruce, I think you need to come see this."

***

"I don't know if I'd call it humanitarian," said Peter, "but I could use some help on this one. Just to cover more ground."

"I'm already on my way," said Steve, his voice muddled by the sound of rushing wind and street noise. He must have been on his motorcycle again. "He couldn't have gone far, and with so many cops on the street, they'll spot him in no time."

Peter shoved his backpack into the shadow of an air conditioning unit and moved to the edge of the roof that was his vantage. "He won't be in full lizard mode--he can't without his serum. If the police are looking for a monster he might slip right by them. But I do have my police scanner on, just in case."

"So what do you think he'll do? Try to go home?"

"I don't know." Peter shook his head. "It doesn't make sense. Dr. Connors went through a lot, but most of that was the drugs he was on. Without them, he's too smart to do something like this."

"Attention all units," came the operator's voice from Peter's homemade scanner. "Suspect sighted on 58th and Broadway, heading south."

Peter shook his head again. "It doesn't make sense," he muttered under his breath, but he gathered himself quickly. "Captain--he's in Woodside, heading south down 58th street. I'm going to try and head him off."

"I'll be there soon," said Steve, and they both hung up.

Peter stashed his phone in his backpack and leapt to the next roof. He had already been headed for the scene of the accident and wouldn't have to adjust course drastically, but the buildings in the area weren't tall enough for swinging. He didn't have much choice but to run from roof to roof. "Better get that job at Stark Tower come fall," he huffed as he followed the scanner's directions. "So you can afford a Spider-Bike or something."

He reached 58th where it crossed beneath the railroad tracks, and perched atop a corner grocery store to get his bearings and his breath. Police sirens wailed in several directions but there was nothing to see. "Damn it." He stood, but he wasn't high enough for any kind of decent view. "What the hell are you doing, Connors? You'll never be free this way."

Peter looked back to the tracks and noticed a dark shadow slouched beneath the bridge. When he crouched down, it twitched in response. Several seconds ticked by, and then a heavy figure lurched out of the darkness and fled south.

It was too large to be human. Peter bit back a curse and gave chase, using the overpass to swing himself into greater momentum. Once they were out from under the bridge he saw his target clearly: Curt Connors just as he remembered, green and scaled, his tail whipping back and forth as he darted around parked cars. It filled Peter with regret more than fear.

"Dr. Connors!" Peter lassoed a lamp post swung up beside the fleeing lizard. "Dr. Connors, stop! You don't want to do this!"

Curt glanced at him and bared his teeth. "Stay away from me!" he shouted, his shoulders rolling forward as he increased his pace.

Peter winced as he continued to chase him down the street; his words were an eerie reminder to a similar chase not long ago. "I'm here to help you!" he called. "This isn't the way to do this. You're just going to get thrown back in prison for even longer if you keep this up!"

"Stay away from me, Spider-Man!" Curt shouted again. "For your own good!"

He veered left, ducking into an alleyway that was almost too narrow for him to squeeze through. It gave Peter plenty of chance to overtake him, and he landed in the middle of the street, facing down Curt with both web shooters at the ready. As soon as Curt reached the mouth of the alley he started to dodge left again, but abruptly his right leg gave out. With a growling cry he dropped to one side, digging his claws into the pavement.

"Doctor?" Peter inched closer. "Please, just--"

Curt grabbed at the nearest car, and with one smooth motion of his arm he tore the driver's side door out of a parked Toyota. Peter had to leap out of the way and was still almost grazed by it flying at him. By the time he had righted himself Curt was off again.

Peter followed. _He's killed people,_ he told himself, his jaws clenching. _Not even as many as he could have. You can't go easy on him, just because you feel sorry for him. You have to stop him._ He pushed himself faster. _Stop him, Parker._

They reached a second overpass, and again Curt yelped with a sudden pain and changed course, turning back toward 58th Street. Peter pulled himself up into the iron beams of the bridge, leaping into the lead, but before he could pounce two police cars came roaring up from the south. Both screeched to a halt, but as the officers reached for their weapons Curt attacked. His clawed feet raked the hood of one car while his tail crashed through the windshield of the other. With a growl he ripped the flashing lights off the first car and turned, flinging it straight at Peter.

Peter retreated to the ground. "For my own good, huh." He shot a line of web at Curt's wrists and yanked, preventing him from going Frisbee on the second set of lights, but Curt was able to sever the webbing without much trouble. He clamored over the cop cars, and in the flashing red and blue lights Peter caught a glimpse of something metallic clamped around each of his ankles.

Before Curt could widen his lead, Peter webbed his broad shoulders and yank, sailing over the squad cars. He landed against Curt's back just as he began to pick up real speed. He raised one arm, expecting the claws to go after him, but Curt just kept on running. Deciding to take one more chance, Peter flattened himself to Curt's shoulder blades and leaned in close to his ear.

"Dr. Connors, you have to stop," he said. "This isn't going to help you or your family. The serum is affecting your mind."

"No--you don't understand." Curt ran faster. "I can't let them have me."

"Who? Who let you out--who got you your serum?"

Curt shook his head. "Stay away from me, Peter!"

Curt finally reached back, his claws raking across the protective webbing of the new suit as he yanked Peter off. Peter twisted, trying to catch him with his web, but a flash of too-bright headlights made him think twice. They had rushed into the full traffic of the Queens Boulevard. Curt threw him aside and he didn't fight it, catching himself on a traffic sign. He righted himself just in time to see a semi-truck breaking--it was too late, and Peter winced back as Curt took the full force of the truck's cab to his right shoulder.

The impact echoed up and down the street, and cars swerved and braked as Curt was thrown into the center of the intersection. He groaned, and his arm twitched and stretched, the bones sticking out at strange angles beneath the skin. Peter knew better than to think he would stay injured long. "Stay away from him!" he shouted as people got out of their cars to stare. "Everyone, stay back!"

Curt stepped to his left. Peter clearly saw when the metal clamped to his right ankle flashed, and with a cry of pain Curt crumpled to his knees. Growling and spitting, he dragged himself upright and ran in the other direction--over a rock wall that led into a cemetery.

Peter tugged his sleeve up, switching out his left cartridge for his spare labeled X. Something strange was going on, but his priority was still catching Curt before he hurt anyone or himself. "Stop him," he told himself again as he leapt over the wall. The soft grass under his feet was at least a nice change from pavement. "If this stuff could hold a spider, it'll hold a lizard."

Curt was crawling up the hill, partially hidden by the shadows of broad trees planted throughout the grounds. Peter rushed after him and caught up on the far side of the hill, where even the road noise was diminished and rows of old headstones dotted the earth like crooked teeth.

"Curt Connors!" Peter shouted.

Curt turned and caught a glob of webbing in the face. As he struggled to free himself of it, Peter attacked, trapping one of Curt's hands to the side of his head. He thrashed and swung, but Peter danced out of the way and webbed his tail to the back of his leg. It threw Curt's balance off and soon he was on the ground. Even though the suit had stood up to his frantic claws before, Peter still stayed out of range as much as he could as he pinned Curt to the ground with a series of thick, sticky strands.

"There." Peter let his breath out in a relieved sigh as he crouched down in front of Curt's head and pulled the webbing away from his eyes and mouth--just enough so he could see and breathe. "Now calm down," he said sternly. "What the hell did you think you were doing? Did you really think you'd just get away?"

Curt panted with exhaustion. "It's a trap," he said.

Peter barely had time to parse the words before he felt a sharp pain between his shoulder blades. He twisted, his elbow thrown back, but there was no one behind him to hit. On all fours he looked up and down the cemetery grounds, and was too caught by the sight of men leaping down from the trees to notice at first that the pain in his back was quickly fading. A heavy, pungent taste rose up his throat. As a dozen men in black combat gear crept out of hiding Peter finally reached behind him and plucked from his back a disturbingly large syringe.

"Wha...?" Peter tried to stand. His head swam dizzily with the movement and then he was on his knees, his hands fisting the grass as he fought to not collapse completely. He felt as is his body was being cut adrift. The air was thick and the dark of the cemetery smeared into indistinct smudges of color on black.

"Amazing, isn't it?" said a man's voice. "What a little Dilaudid can do. Okay, a _lot_ of Dilaudid. I sure hope you're not allergic."

Peter sat back on his heels. He tried to get up, to lift his head--to do _anything_ \--but he just felt cold, all over, and his stomach was lurching. He shuddered, his lips stumbling. "What...why are you..."

"But then, with a dose like that it might not matter if you are or not." The man crouched down in front of Peter. "It's not like he specified alive or dead for you, anyway."

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, but the black only made his sudden nausea worse. "Who are you?"

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

A hand gripped the back of Peter's mask, and he jerked, trying to struggle free. He realized a moment later that the man was just trying to get his head up. His sight was still blurry, but he could make out some of the stranger: he was dressed in black like the rest of them, and he was pulling a ski mask off his face.

"Well?" he asked, grinning. "Recognize me?"

Peter stared at the familiar face in confusion. "Justin Hammer...?"

"Yes, very good!" Justin crowed. "Good for you. Now it's _your_ turn."

His other hand came forward, and Peter fought back without thinking, shoving Hammer hard in the chest. As he fell over backwards another took his place and kicked Peter in the gut. It wasn't much of a hit--if Peter had been at his best it wouldn't have even registered--but his insides already felt like they were rotting, and he crumbled, gagging, over his knees. For a few panicked moments he wasn't even sure he could breathe.

"Stop!" Curt shouted from behind him. "Leave him alone!"

"Oh shut up before I make you into shoes." Hammer pulled himself to his feet. "Any sign of Stark?" he asked one of his men.

"Not yet, sir."

"Good." He came at Peter again. "Then we have time to--"

"Hey!"

Hammer jerked his mask back down before turning toward the intruder. To Peter he was only a dark shape coming over the hill, but he knew who it was just by the way the surrounding soldiers reacted: they fanned out, slowly, disguising the fact that they were taking up formation. Their trap wasn't meant for a lizard or a spider, but the man with a shield on his arm that was walking right into it. 

"It's all right!" Hammer called, taking a deliberate step in front of Peter. "It's all right; we've got this thing under control."

Steve stopped in front of them. Peter shoved at the grass, trying to hold himself up, but he couldn't put any strength into his limbs and couldn't take a deep enough breath to speak. He was collapsing in on himself, unable to warn or even gesture when Steve asked, "Is Spider-Man all right?"

"He's fine." Hammer nudged Peter with the back of his heel. "He's just catching his breath. Took a few too many hits from gator-boy here."

"Let me look at--"

Three of the black-clad men raised their weapons and fired. Peter feared the worst, but Steve was already on to them; he pivoted on the balls of his feet, swinging his shield arm in smooth curve that easily shattered their projectiles. When the rest of the men attacked as well Steve wasted no time. He punched out the nearest man and then smashed a second in the face with his shield. The grassy hill erupted in an all-out brawl, and Steve had gone through half of the strangers before Hammer called them to a halt.

"Whoa, whoa!" Hammer shouted, his hands up in surrender. "Stop--everyone calm down, stop, Jesus." The men backed obediently down, but Steve still had one by the neck, and he didn't let go. "Okay, just calm down," Hammer went on. "There's no need for that."

"Who are you?" Steve demanded as his captive pawed ineffectively at the steely fingers around his throat. "What is going on here?"

"Okay, okay. I'll tell you. But first, I'd like to test a theory."

Hammer pulled a thick cylinder off his belt, and with a flick of his wrist it extended. "I bet," he said, "that that shield of yours conducts electricity."

Peter gagged, the taste of spaghetti and cherry in his throat. He shook his head, but that only made his dizziness worse, and he slumped onto his elbow. "Captain...!"

Steve shoved his hostage to the ground. "I'm not here to play games. Put down your weapons or I'll make you."

"If I put it down," Hammer drawled, "I'll never prove my hypothesis."

Steve came at him. His shield was up and ready, and Hammer swung his arm, shoving the tip of his cattle prod into the center of the white star. Sparks crackled along the rod but Steve was undeterred--he even paused for a moment so that Hammer would see just how ineffective his attack was. One of the surrounding men moved. Peter wasn't even sure what he had done until something smacked against Steve's shield, and a splash of foul-smelling liquid spilled over its polished surface. The paint sizzled and smeared together, and when Hammer raked his cattle prod through the mess a blue-white bolt of electricity jolted across the exposed metal.

The liquid ignited, and for a few brief seconds the shield was aflame. Hammer and Steve both reeled back, but then the men swarmed forward again. Some fired tasers while others wielded shock sticks, attacking every opening for exposed skin. When Hammer regained his balance he went again for the shield, and Steve cried out as electricity coursed through the metal braced on his arm.

"Stop!" Peter shouted. He forced all the strength he had into his legs and nearly made it upright, but then five huge fingers grabbed him by the thigh and yanked him down again. He flailed desperately until he was on his side, choking and helpless.

"You can't do anything," said Curt. He had managed to get one of his arms free, and he slipped two claws under the bottom of Peter's mask, drawing it up over his mouth. Peter gulped for air even though he didn't manage to catch much. "Stay still, before your lungs give out."

Peter's eyes were watering, but he forced himself to watch as Steve struggled against his opponents. Every blow to his shield put lightning through his limbs, and he abandoned it, fighting the men with just his fists. He was already caught off guard, dizzy from the electricity, and when one of the men landed a lucky shock to his neck he crumpled. Peter squirmed and silently cursed as Steve was driven onto his back.

One of the men grabbed the shield. He swung it like a cymbal, smashing Steve in the face so that blood poured from his nose. The rest joined in, pouncing on Steve's torso and legs to keep him pinned while the first drove the hard edge of the shield into Steve's neck. Still Steve fought, shoving and growling, but he had no leverage and couldn't draw enough air with blood in his throat.

"Well well well," said Hammer. He tugged at his ski mask to make sure it was still in place before moving into Steve's line of sight. "I was right. But don't feel bad, it was kind of a trick question. Vibranium may be the rarest metal on Earth but it still conducts electricity. It's the _paint_ on the shield that usually protects it. Sealants and such. Very cool stuff, SHIELD science pros."

Steve braced both hands against the shield and pushed, and even with three men bearing down on him he still lifted the hard edge off his throat. "Who are you people?" he rasped.

Hammer dragged a duffel bag over, and from it produced a thick, metal cuff with plastic tubing sticking out of one end. "Oh, Spider-Man can tell you. I'm not really feeling an introduction at the moment." He opened the cuff and then slapped it shut around Steve's right wrist. "Besides, that's not what you really want to know, is it? You're thinking, _how?_ " He reached into the bag and fiddled with something inside. "How did these assholes get the better of Captain America? It sure doesn't seem possible, does it?"

He crouched down next to Steve, and even with the world melting around him Peter heard and shuddered beneath the cold slither of his voice. "The answer is, you underestimated me," said Hammer. "Just for a moment, and that was enough." He smacked Steve's cheek. "Don't ever do that again."

He pressed a button on the cuff, and Steve cried out, his fingers convulsing against the shield. The men pressed down and Steve's grip slipped--the vibranium dug again into his windpipe, making weak gasps of his breathing. 

"Police are coming up the hill," one of the men reported.

"So stall them." Hammer pressed one fingertip to the tube running from the cuff, and when blood began to flow through it, he followed it back to the duffel. "This won't take much longer."

Peter shuddered beneath the heavy press of Curt's hand as he watched Steve's fighting weaken: his elbows went slack, his feet stopped kicking. The color drained from his face. "Have to...do something," Peter breathed, even though he was past even being able to raise his head. "They'll kill him...!"

Gunshots echoed across the hill, and Peter could distantly hear men's shouts amidst police sirens. "Stay still," Curt said again as he drew Peter closer to him. "Just wait."

"Sir," said the man again a minute later. "Iron Man's been spotted leaving the tower. He's on his way here."

"And that, gentlemen, is our cue." Hammer removed the cuff, uncaring as Steve's hand dropped to the ground with a spurt of red. He helped the blood still left in the tube dribble into whatever machine was is in the duffel and packed everything away. "Hurry up--it won't take him long to get here."

"Do we kill them?"

Hammer scoffed. "Kill Captain America? Have a little respect." Hammer slung the duffel over his shoulder. "But go ahead and kill the other one, if you want. Your boss won't complain."

The men hurried about, gathering up their weapons and unconscious companions. Peter kept his eyes trained on Steve, who was lying motionless in the grass. He couldn't tell if he was breathing. Only when his line of sight was blocked by a pair of black boots did he look up at the barrel of a gun aimed at his head.

Curt's arm stretched over him. Peter appreciated the effort even though he knew it wouldn't save him. But then Curt grabbed him by the wrist, yanking his arm up, and one lizard finger pressed hard on the plunger of his web shooter. A spray of goo covered the gun, the man's arm, but Curt didn't stop--he shot webbing in all directions, sticking the men to themselves and each other. In confusion they ran. Peter heard them shouting as they retreated, and within minutes their voices were replaced with the commotion of approaching police and, finally, the familiar whine of the Iron Man thrusters.

"Let him go!" an officer hollered. "Get your lizard hands off him!"

"S'okay," Peter mumbled, but no one heard him. "He didn't..." When Curt drew his arm back he wanted to protest, but he couldn't get any more of his voice out.

Tony landed nearby, throwing up chunks of grass and dirt. His mask clanged open as he surveyed the unreal scenery. "Rogers? What the hell happened?"

"I'm all right," Steve groaned, and Peter could have cried with relief. "Mostly."

"You're bleeding an awful lot for 'mostly all right.'"

"I'm fine--you need to go after them."

"Mr. Stark," said Curt, and everyone turned to stare. "You need to take Spider-Man to a hospital."

The cops came forward. One slipped his arms under Peter and tried to lift him up. The movement was too much; Peter gripped his stomach and vomited. It seemed to take forever for the contents of his stomach to empty, and his throat burned with the effort. When it finally seemed that he was done, he spat in the grass.

Everyone around him was suddenly very still. "Oh my God," said Steve.

"'m okay," Peter croaked. "I just..."

"They gave him an overdose of hydromorphone," said Curt. "He needs naloxone, and fluids, or he's going to go into respiratory failure."

"Jesus." The next thing Peter knew, Tony was scooping him up. "I've got him. I'll come back when I can."

"Mr. Stark," Peter said weakly. "You gotta...get those assholes..."

"We will. You worry about not dying for now, okay?" The mask clanged shut. "And try not to puke on my suit."

Peter tried to think of some retort, but he didn't get the chance. He was unconscious by the time they took off.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter awoke to the steady blip of a heart rate monitor. That would have been ominous enough without him being immediately aware of the IV needle in his arm and a pair of tubes in his nose. He squirmed, trying to take stock of where he was and if he was injured, but was quickly halted by a hand on his chest.

"Peter, it's all right," said Bruce. "Relax."

Peter sighed, calming almost instantly beneath the warm pressure of Bruce's wide palm. "Bruce." He blinked his eyes open and was finally able to take in the room around him: clean, and white, and dimly lit. He was stretched out in a bed, naked beneath clean, pressed sheets. "Is this a hospital?" he asked.

"Floor eighty-one of Stark Tower," said Bruce. "Tony's private medical floor. His doctor is under all manner of confidentiality contracts; don't worry."

Peter rubbed his eyes. He still felt a little light-headed but his vision was clear and his breathing back to normal. "How long have I been out?"

"About an hour."

Peter looked up at him, and even though Bruce looked absolutely ragged, it made him smile. "You were looking after me?" he asked, tangling his fingers with Bruce's.

Bruce smiled wearily and gave his hand a squeeze. "Of course. How do you feel?"

Peter stretched and tried wiggling all his fingers and toes. "Not bad," he concluded. He poked at the tubes in his nose. "Am I on oxygen? Was it really that bad?"

"Your lungs almost gave out," said Bruce, his hand tightening again. "And Tony said you were vomiting blood."

"Blood?" Peter tensed against a flash of real concern. "I don't remember tasting blood," he said. "Just Aunt May's spaghetti, and..."

_Cherry Popsicle._ Peter understood immediately what Tony must have seen, but just remembering the events of earlier made him blush. He had never expected to be face to face with Bruce so soon and he couldn't get the words out.

"And what?" Bruce prompted.

"And...uh." Peter could feel his face getting hot, certain that his heart-rate monitor would register his embarrassment at any moment. "Um, nothing."

"Peter," Bruce said seriously. "Tell me. This is important."

"It's nothing, it's just..." He didn't want to say it, but Bruce was watching him with such deep concern. "It was a Popsicle," he blurted out. "Red--cherry. I could taste it when it came up. Kind of...gross, really."

It took Bruce several beats to absorb the nonsensical declaration. Finally he sighed, his shoulders drooping as if all the strength had gone out of him. He rubbed his eyes with two fingers. "Jesus, Peter."

"It's a little funny, isn't it?" Peter smiled through a wince. "Mistaking spaghetti and cherry for--"

"No, it's not funny." Bruce pushed his hand back through his hair. "An overdose like that could have killed you. And if Tony hadn't been there the police would have had to take you to an actual hospital, and then your name and face would be all over the news."

Peter shrank into the mattress. "Sorry..."

Bruce grimaced, and a deep breath later, was calmer. "It's not your fault," he said. "I'm..." He shook his head; Peter began to feel guilty that he had found Bruce's worry to be charming. "I don't know if I can watch Tony bring you in like that again."

"You won't have to," Peter said quickly. "They're not going to catch me off guard again." He tugged Bruce's hand up and kissed the back of his knuckles. "I promise."

Bruce smiled, but before he could speak something caught his attention in the doorway. Peter looked for himself and tensed; Steve was watching them. There was very clear disapproval in his eyes as they flicked between the two of them, and Peter felt nauseous all over again when Bruce tugged his hand free and leaned back.

"Captain," Peter said brightly, hoping to divert attentions and lift the mood. "Jeez, are you all right? You look pale."

And he meant it; it was easy to tell beneath his mussed blond hair that his face was a shade lighter than usual. His T-shirt was marred with grass stains and even a few burn marks from the fight, and a tightly wound pressure bandage circled his wrist. Still, he was at least on his feet. 

"I'm all right," said Steve. "And I'm glad you are, too." He didn't seem all that glad. Peter would have described his furrowed brow more accurately as "grim." He looked at Bruce. "Agent Romanoff wants to talk to him."

"I figured," said Bruce wearily.

Steve turned to wave to someone in the next room. Peter had only a moment to prepare. "Agent Romanoff" sounded sinister enough that he was compelled to snatch up his mask from the bedside table and shove it over his face. He sat up, drawing the sheets up with him. All in all, he was sure he looked ridiculous.

A woman stepped into the room, and Peter recognized her immediately as one of the SHIELD agents that he had spied on the Williamsburg Bridge retrieving two unconscious Avengers. She was dressed in black and red, a little too casual for her title of agent, but she carried herself so precisely that Peter felt a warning bell at the back of his mind. He had a sense that he already knew what she was capable of and that he didn't want to mess with that.

"Peter," said Bruce, "this is Agent Natasha Romanoff."

Peter cleared his throat. "Agent Romanoff," he greeted with as much seriousness as he could muster.

Natasha regarded him blankly for a moment. As Tony entered the room behind her, she walked straight up to the bed and yanked Peter's mask off. He winced back and didn't try to stop her, relying instead on a hopeful grin, which she also regarded without amusement.

"Aren't you a little short for a Storm Trooper?" she said.

Peter bit back a chuckle. "Actually, I'm taller than Bruce," he replied. "But, you know. Nice reference. Um, hi." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess there's no point--"

"Your name is Peter Parker," said Natasha. "You were born June 29th, 1994, to Richard and Mary Parker. Now you live with your aunt in Forest Hills and you're Mr. Hueller's top intern."

Peter glanced from Bruce, to Steve, to Tony, and received no aid from any of them. "Um, yes?"

Natasha sat herself on the edge of the mattress. "We've been onto you for a while," she went on. "But don't worry; SHIELD doesn't concern itself with street-level vigilantism. I just want to know what happened to you tonight."

"We all do," added Tony. "Who the hell throws painkillers around like that? If they wanted you dead there are a lot of worse things they could have shot into you."

"He didn't want me dead," said Peter, remembering all at once how serious the situation really was. "He wasn't after _me_ at all; he wanted Captain Rogers. That's why he came to the Tower tonight."

Everyone frowned at him. "Who?" asked Bruce.

"Justin Hammer."

"Justin Hammer hired mercenaries to kill Captain Rogers?" said Natasha.

"No, I mean, it _was_ Justin Hammer. He was there in person." Peter looked to Steve. "That douchebag with the cattle prod--that was him."

Steve looked mortified. " _That_ was Justin Hammer?"

"It was all a setup," Peter went on. "Dr. Connors was just the bait. He had something on his legs they were using to herd him into the cemetery, so that Cap and I would end up right where they wanted us."

Bruce shifted in his chair, his fists tight against his knees, but he didn't speak. "If they planned that well, they must have known that Captain Rogers would be in the area," said Natasha. She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Your apartment could be compromised."

"His very existence is supposed to be a secret," said Tony. "No one knows he's the real deal."

Steve shook his head. "Peter, did he say anything else to you? About what they want, what they're after?"

Peter gulped; when he tried to remember, the first thing that came to him was a taste of bile. "He said it didn't matter if I was alive or dead. That he wasn't told which, as if he was following orders, too."

"Ross," Bruce said abruptly, and everyone turned to look. Bruce was staring fixedly at his hands. "I was right. It's Ross."

The others exchanged wary glances. Peter sat up straighter and asked, "Who's Ross?"

Natasha stood from the bed. "Thank you for the information, Mr. Parker. Is there anything else you can tell us?"

Peter cast his gaze around the room. He didn't like how tense Bruce looked, and he wished he could have reached out. "I'm sorry, but it's a little fuzzy. But, um." He hesitated, and she just looked at him, patiently waiting. He gulped. "What about Dr. Connors?"

"What about him?"

"Is he all right?" He fingered the IV tube trailing down his arm anxiously. "I know what it looked like out there, but it wasn't his fault. He tried to warn me. He saved my life."

"Dr. Connors has been taken into SHIELD custody for now," she said. "But I'll add that to the report." Her lip curled in the slightest of smiles. "Rest up, Mr. Parker."

She turned to leave, Tony and Steve going with her. Bruce stood as well, and he gave Peter's hand a squeeze. "Try to sleep some more," he suggested. "I'll be back soon."

"Do you know what's really going on?" Peter asked quickly. "Who is Ross? And what would he want with Captain Rogers' blood? Does it have to do with...."

"I'll tell you what I know, but not right now." Bruce glanced to the door, making sure that the others were out, and then helped ease Peter onto his back again. "Rest. You're safe here."

Peter wasn't convinced, but he let Bruce tuck him in. "Okay. Thanks, Bruce."

Bruce smiled and left. As soon as the door had closed behind him, Peter slipped out of bed and tugged his IV as far as it would reach. With his ear pressed close to the knob he could hear the four of them conversing outside.

***

"It actually makes some sense," Natasha was saying as Bruce rejoined her, Steve, and Tony in the hall. "Director Fury suspected that it was Ross who pulled the strings to have Hammer released. It could be they came to some kind of deal."

"No, it doesn't make sense," Tony retorted. "Hammer's a businessman, and a horrible one at that. He's not a soldier--he doesn't get his hands dirty."

"Apparently, he does. If you believe the kid, anyway."

Bruce kept himself from answering too quickly. His trip to the prison, Steve's data, and another round of Peter wounded had already put his nerves in a sorry state, and he knew better than to invite any antagonism. "Peter has no reason to lie," he said. "And Hammer _was_ here tonight. We all saw him take an interest in Steve." Despite his best efforts, his hands were tightening to fists again. "And we know what General Ross wants. We have to stop him."

"We don't have anything to connect General Ross to this," said Natasha.

"But he was the one that was carrying out Connors' transfer. You said so yourself."

"And he was injured during Connors' escape, along with several of his men." Natasha shook her head. "I understand how you feel--"

"You 'understand,'" Bruce grumbled.

"--but General Ross is still a man with powerful allies. SHIELD can't make a move on him without more than speculation."

"So you're going to do nothing." Bruce huffed with mounting frustration. "You're just going to wait until he puts out the next Emil Blonsky. Because that's exactly where this is headed, don't you see? He's not going to stop until he has his perfect monster pet."

"Rogers," Tony said suddenly. "You all right?"

Bruce glanced behind him, where Steve was leaning his back against the wall. "I'm fine," Steve said, rubbing his eyes. 

"Maybe you should sit down," Natasha suggested. "You've lost a lot of blood."

"I said I'm fine." Steve smoothed his hair back and took a deep breath. "I agree with Dr. Banner. We need to go after these people, now. If we can't touch General Ross, we need to find Hammer."

Natasha shook her head again. "We have even less on Hammer than we do Ross."

"But it's not like he has Ross's protection," said Tony. "You're really telling me SHIELD is above violating the civil rights of ass-licking worms like Hammer?"

"I didn't say that." The tilt of her eyebrow looked downright mischievous. "We just have to be careful. Hammer is in the public eye right now. If he disappears so soon after his release it might draw attention."

"We need to go after him," Steve repeated. "He's not getting away with what he did tonight: to me, to Peter, and to Dr. Connors."

"He won't." Natasha looked like she was going to say more and then decided against it. "We've got people on it. Try to be patient. I'll let you know as soon as I have something."

Bruce wasn't satisfied, but there wasn't much else to say. He watched as Tony walked with Natasha to the elevator. Slowly, he forced his fingers to stretch and relax. He told himself not to think about it. Ross had what he had, and it wouldn't help to charge after him yet. They had to wait. Knowing that didn't make it any easier.

And then Steve looked at him and asked, "What's going on between you and Peter?"

Bruce stiffened. He had known Steve would figure it out, but the timing could not have been worse. He tried not to let his nerves show. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"Nothing." Bruce's fists began to clench all over again. "Nothing's going on."

Steve stared at him. Someone like him never needed to push hard to get the truth he wanted out of people. "He's a kid, Bruce," he said seriously.

Bruce took in a breath through his teeth. "I just said nothing is going on."

"He's only seventeen."

"But he--" Bruce had to stop himself from giving Steve exactly the same teen-logic Peter had tried on him. He scraped the back of his hand across his mouth. "He's not a child," he said as calmly as he could manage. "You've seen what he can do. He's brilliant for his age and I respect him, that's all. So what exactly are you getting at?"

Tony walked back up to them, and both of them tried to catch his eye. He shrugged. "What's going on?"

Steve got to him first. "Did you know about them?"

Tony frowned. He must have seen the plaintive look Bruce was fixing him with, but he went ahead and said it anyway. "It's none of my business."

It was all the confirmation Steve needed, and he turned on Bruce again with a cold look. It dug under his skin, and rather than wait for a string of accusations, Bruce said, "It's nothing. A crush, that's all."

"On whose end?"

Bruce stared straight back. "His. And Tony's right--it's no one's business anyway."

"Peter made himself my business," said Steve. "And I--"

"Rogers, come on," interrupted Tony. "It's not our business. Look, I know you're pissed about the shield, but don't take that out on Bruce."

Steve shot him a glare, but he did seem to back down. "I am not taking out anything," he said, finally sinking onto a bench against the wall.

Bruce looked to Tony. "What about the shield?"

"They took it," Tony replied. "There's nothing they can do to it--it's virtually indestructible. They must want to send a message, or..." He shook his head. "Shit, I still can't believe it was Hammer."

Steve was staring at the wall. He didn't show fatigue easily, but his skin was still pale and his posture less than its usual precision. Bruce knew what the loss of that single item meant to him, but he wasn't in a mood to offer sympathy.

"I don't know Hammer personally," he said to Tony. "But based on what I saw of him tonight, you should be careful. It's you he has a personal vendetta against."

"I'm not worried. His best tech can't touch me." He glanced at Steve. "But Romanoff had a point. They knew Rogers was _here_ , so why didn't they set Connors loose in Manhattan, if he was the target?"

"Maybe they were afraid you would respond faster."

"Or they knew where he _would_ be." He turned to address Steve himself. "I don't think you should go back to your apartment tonight."

Steve sighed and fixed him with a look. "Are you suggesting I stay here?"

"There's an open floor. We can get you a change of clothes." He offered his hand. "And an orange to suck on. Seriously, Rogers, you need to eat something and lie down."

Steve shook his head, but he did allow Tony to help pull him upright. Though Bruce was childishly annoyed at the thought of them being under the same roof, he stepped back and didn't say anything. "We'll get you set up," Tony was saying. "Then at least we're all in the same place when Romanoff comes back with something."

"If they knew where I lived, they could have just attacked me there," Steve muttered, but he didn't look like he had it in him to fight. He stopped before Tony could lead him away. "What about Peter?"

Bruce's eyes narrowed, so Tony answered for him. "He still had his mask on when we found him, so I don't think we have to worry about them following him home. Once we're sure he's all right I'll have a car take him."

Steve didn't look satisfied, but he nodded. "Let me know when you do. I want to hear he made it home safely."

"Sure, sure."

They walked away. Both of them glanced back, but Bruce didn't wait to try and interpret. He headed back to Peter's room, and opened the door in time to see Peter diving--carefully--into bed. He sighed. "Peter."

"Yeah?" Peter smiled innocently as he arranged the sheets over him, but in the process he jarred the IV needle in his arm. He winced loudly as Bruce closed the door. "Um, hey."

"So I suppose you heard everything." Bruce found it hard to look Peter in the face as he moved about the room, replacing Peter's mask with the rest of his costume, trying to look busy. "Don't be mad at me. Steve wasn't in any kind of mood to have a real conversation."

"I'm not mad," said Peter, and he didn't sound mad. He sounded disappointed. "I understand. I just have to think of what _I'm_ going to say next time I see him."

Bruce stopped his fussing. "I don't want you to have to lie."

"I'm pretty used to it, actually." He shrugged in that way people did when pretending they weren't bothered. "I don't want to get you in trouble with Cap, or anyone else."

Bruce sighed; only a few hours ago, Peter hadn't even admitted that trouble was involved. At last he surrendered and sat himself down on the edge of the mattress. "You don't have to worry about me," he said. "You can tell him the truth, if you want."

Peter mulled that over, but whatever conclusion he reached, he didn't speak it. Instead he reached out, playing idly with Bruce's fingers, as if wanting to take his hand without making the final move. "So who's General Ross?"

It wasn't any easier of a topic, but Peter was owed an answer. "You could say he's my arch-nemesis, I guess," Bruce said.

"Yeah?" Peter gave a lopsided grin. "Every hero has to have one."

Bruce started to say that he wasn't a hero, but it was then that Peter clasped his hand, and he didn't feel like arguing. "General Ross was in charge of the Super Soldier Serum project when I was working on it," he explained. "We were trying to recreate the serum and circumstances that gave Steve his extraordinary abilities. He thought that we could make a new breed of soldier--an unparalleled army."

Peter gave his hand a squeeze. "And that's when you got your, um, abilities, too?"

"Yes." The memory made his skin crawl. "The power I got that day was more than I or Ross had ever expected. Too much power for one person to ever control. But Ross didn't care about that; all he wanted was a weapon. I've done everything I can to stay out of his reach, to keep him from using me...and my other half."

Peter sat up a little straighter and asked, "You mean, he's the reason you stay holed up in the tower all the time? To keep off his radar?"

"He's not the only reason," Bruce admitted. "But yes, he's part of it. At least, until now." He shook his head. "If Hammer really was collecting Steve's blood for Ross, he has what he wants. He may find some way to reverse-engineer the serum. If he succeeds..."

"Then we'll stop him," said Peter, as if it were that simple. "It's not like we haven't dealt with mutant things before."

"They're not _things_ , they're..." Bruce shook his head again. "No, I know what you mean. And you're right." He managed a smile as he pushed to his feet again. "We'll handle it. But for now, you need to get some rest."

"I feel fine," said Peter, but he let Bruce urge him onto his back regardless. "Well, not _fine_ , but good enough. I should get back before Aunt May--"

"Just give it one more hour, for my sake. Then Tony's doctor can have another look at you before we send you home." He gave Peter's hair a gentle ruffle, which seemed to do the trick. "We'll get to the bottom of all of this, I promise."

Peter settled in, but before Bruce could slip out he cleared his throat. "Bruce. I want to see Dr. Connors."

Bruce stopped, and he had to reassure himself that there was no way Peter could have known about his meeting earlier. "Why?"

"Because I...I just need to," Peter said, his hands twisting in the sheets. "First I get him turned into a giant lizard, next he's being used by these creepy guys to get to me, and--"

"Peter," Bruce said firmly. "None of this is your fault."

"I know." Peter squirmed. "I know, but still, it's because--"

"What happened to Dr. Connors is not your fault," Bruce insisted. "You don't owe him anything." He grimaced beneath the doubtful face Peter was making. "But I'll try to figure out where he's been taken, and if he can accept visitors, if you want."

Peter smiled with weary relief and finally seemed to relax. "Okay. Thank you."

"Now sleep, all right? I'll be back in an hour." Bruce flicked off the lights and slipped out.

Tony was waiting for him. Bruce glanced quickly up and down the hall and was relieved to find them alone. "Did you ditch Steve already?" he asked.

"Pepper's with him. He's gonna be on the floor below you for a while." Bruce expected some kind of smart ass remark to go with the news, but Tony didn't seem to be in the mood. "Tell me the truth, Bruce: what are the chances Ross will be able to do anything with that blood?"

"I don't know," Bruce confessed. "If he still has access to all my research, and a decent enough team of scientists, it might be a matter of time. Maybe with Steve's sample they'll even manage to stabilize my formula properly." He rubbed his mouth, and though he wouldn't have said anything to anyone who wasn't Tony, he added, "Maybe I should be thanking Steve, if this means he'll finally be through with _me_."

"There is someone you could ask," Tony said.

It took Bruce a moment to figure out who he meant, but when he did, his rib cage suddenly felt several sizes too small. A conflict of impulses made him shift in his shoes, wanting to run, wanting to grab Tony by the throat. Emotion was already too close to his surface for Tony to making suggestions like that so casually.

"I'll think about it," he said, staring fixedly at the far wall.

Tony took a step back. For all that he claimed to trust Bruce and the monster inside him, he knew when not to press his luck. "Let me know when the doc clears Peter," he said. "I'll have a car ready to take him."

"Thank you."

Tony left. Bruce considered going back to his rooms, but then he remembered his computer and the USB still plugged in that he wasn't interested in facing. Instead, he took a seat on the bench Steve had occupied earlier. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, held it, let it out. Over and over, for another hour.

***

General Ross shoved his way through security all the way to Norman Osborn's penthouse. The master bedroom had been divided in half with cloth shields as if it were a hospital, leaving Osborn himself shadowed inside amidst a myriad of various pieces of medical machinery. But Osborn wasn't his focus, anyway. Ross's fury was aimed at Osborn's new roommate, who was seated behind a desk by the windows. He looked as if he had come directly from the field, dressed in a black T-shirt and fatigues, dirt on his boots. He didn't look up. "Welcome home, Thaddeus."

"You little shit." Ross stormed over to him, with enough force that no one would notice his slight limp. "The hell were you thinking? We had a _plan_."

Hammer's eyebrows rose as he glanced up. "Did it not work?"

"Look at me!" Ross pointed to his swollen right eye and the bruises that crossed his jaw down to his neck. "Your men were supposed to _crash_ the transport van, not blow it open with a grenade launcher!"

"Po-tay-to, po-tah-to." Hammer went back to whatever he was typing.

"They nearly killed me!"

"That should make for a pretty convincing alibi, then."

"It doesn't matter," said Osborn. His voice sounded even hoarser in person. "He did what we asked. The blood is already being rushed to Oscorp for analysis."

"Your security had better have improved _dramatically_ in the last two months," Ross grumbled. He spotted a cooler in one corner of the room and found a chilled bottle of water to hold against his face. "Unless Captain Rogers is dead everyone is going to know what we took from him and what we're using it for."

"I'm not killing Captain America," said Hammer.

"Like you could." Ross sank into a chair. "Those men, though. Where did you find them?"

"Good mercenaries are like a good tailor," Hammer muttered. "Once you find one, you never tell. But you'll be glad to know you were right about the shield. Cooked him real good."

Ross shook his head. "I can't believe you pulled it off. What did they teach you in that prison?" When Hammer didn't respond, he looked over. "I'm serious."

Hammer still didn't look up. "I haven't done anything for the last two months but think about how to 'pull this off,'" he said. "Which has included a lot of research." He licked his lips. "And a lot of Tony Stark RPF whumpfic."

"What?"

"Never mind." He wiped his mouth. "Let's just say that when you combine the imagination of your average college girl with the tactical mind of a mercenary and Norman's expensive technology, what you get is..." He shrugged. "Four pints of Captain America's blood."

Ross sighed as he opened his water bottle and then took a gulp. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Good."

"Can we move on?" Osborn grumbled. "Now that we have the means to recreate the serum, it's time we acquire the vita-ray chamber. As you promised."

Hammer finally turned away from the computer. " _I_ got you the means to recreate the serum," he said. "Which means it's _my_ turn to get something."

"You have your freedom," said Ross. "You owe that to us."

"Yeah, but I was released _yesterday_. What have you done for me _lately_?"

Ross leaned toward him, his eyes hard. "We don't have time for your bullshit, Hammer. Tells us where it is."

Before he could answer, Osborn shifted restlessly and said, "What do you want? Stark? Then let's just get it over with."

Ross glared into the shadowed space Osborn occupied. He was sick of Hammer having the upper hand over them, and he knew it wouldn't change with Osborn so eager to give in. When he looked back to Hammer, the smug grin that greeted him made him wish he had his service weapon on him.

"I want Stark," said Hammer. "And I'm working on it." He went back to the computer. "But it's going to take some help from you, Norman."

"If you're really going after Stark, what you need is access," said Ross. "When the tower was damaged last May, he had to hire in a lot of workers. I know of some who could be persuaded to give up information, for a price."

Hammer rolled his eyes. "That's all well and good, but what we _actually_ need is a way through his technology. That's the only way to really beat Tony Stark."

"And you think you can do that?" Ross scoffed, setting his bottle on the desk.

"Tell him, Norman."

Osborn coughed loudly; it took several moments for him to regain his composure. "Ever since Stark refused to hand over the Iron Man armor to the government, the Secretary of Defense has been looking for a way to track and possibly control it. Originally Hammer Industries was given the job, but all their research has since passed to me. I have men working on it."

Ross tried hard not to let his curiosity override his skepticism. "You were actually making progress?" he asked Hammer.

Hammer reached between the mouse and the keyboard. "We have a plan."

"Is that what you're working on now?"

"Of course." Hammer stole Ross' water and took a long drink. "I'm Tweeting."

Ross grunted, but when he stood and moved around the desk to see for himself, he indeed found an open Twitter account on the screen. He glared at Hammer incredulously and at last just shook his head. "You are the strangest man I've ever met. What do you need from me?"

"Nothing," said Hammer. "In fact, you might as well just...go."

"You're asking me to leave?"

"Hammer and I will handle Stark," said Osborn. "All we need from you now is for you to smooth over the Connors situation. Unless you think you can get some of the original Super Soldier Serum research to pass on to my scientists."

"I told you, I don't have access to that anymore," Ross reluctantly admitted. "It's all locked up with the..." He glanced at Hammer and thought better of saying too much. "It's gone. You might as well ask for Blonsky."

Hammer lifted his head. "We can have Blonsky?"

"No--didn't you just hear me?"

"Oh." He looked disappointed. "Then I guess we really don't need you after all."

Ross ground his teeth together. "Now you listen--"

"General." Osborn coughed again. "If you really can provide intel on Stark Tower, I'd appreciate it."

Ross glared at one and then the other, his fists tight at his sides. He ached to be in uniform, but even that had been damaged in the purposefully unsuccessful prison transfer. He wondered, irrationally, if that had been part of Hammer's plan as well. He was getting paranoid.

"I'll be in touch," he said, and with nothing else to do, he showed himself out.

***

Hammer relaxed in the wake of Ross's departure. "Military men," he mumbled. "They're all the same."

Osborn went back to coughing. "Are you really Tweeting over there?"

"Sure." Hammer clicked the Tweet button and then immediately began replying to a message he'd received while Ross was babbling on. "Right now #spidermanlives is trending. I'm trying to combat it."

Osborn sighed. He sounded like he might rattle apart at any moment. "You really are a strange man, Justin Hammer." The mattress shifted, and when Hammer glanced up, he could just barely tell that Osborn was stretching out on his back. "I'm going to sleep. Help yourself to whatever you want. You're my guest here."

"Thank you." Hammer smiled bitterly to himself. "Nothing like impending death to teach a man hospitality, huh Norman?"

"Good night, Justin."

The room fell quiet. Hammer stayed up a while longer, reading through what the news blogs were saying about the night's incidents, before finally shutting the computer down. As he rounded the desk he cast a glance at Osborn's bed. He could have peeked. He still had no idea what was exactly wrong with his secretive host, other than Osborn's own insistence that it was fatal. For once, his better sense held him back. He thought of the gruesome possibilities and shuddered.

Instead, he moved to the windows. The city looked so pretty behind tinted glass, with muted pinpoints of colorful light dotting the dark shapes of towering skyscrapers. Up so high you couldn't see the trash on the sidewalks, or smell the bitter tang of gasoline and car exhaust. There was just flashing steel raised by the hands of men out of the earth, each a perfect, graceful monument. He loved the city. He had missed it so damn much in prison, but suddenly he couldn't remember why.

What did it matter, what other men were able to build? The city had nothing left of his. Never mind his name on any buildings, there wasn't even work for him. He had nothing but what Osborn paid for, no purpose but Ross' pathetic greed.

"So I'll take," Hammer said under his breath, his hands shaking against the glass. "I'll just take what I want from them." He smiled grimly at his reflection. "All of them."


	6. Chapter 6

Peter awoke to Bruce entering the room, a doctor with him. They checked his vitals and marveled at his perfect skin where bruises had been only an hour before. Once satisfied that he was all right, the doctor left, and Bruce produced fresh clothes for Peter to wear home.

"I can just put the suit back on," Peter said, rubbing the sore spot left by the IV. "And swing home."

"You're not doing any more swinging tonight," Bruce said immediately, as if he'd expected Peter would suggest it. "We still don't know exactly who's behind this and how far they're willing to go. You should consider laying low for a while."

"I've _been_ laying low. If I lay any lower I'll be underground." Peter yanked on the T-shirt and jeans, curious as to where they had come from and if Bruce had picked them out himself. "I don't want that asshole Hammer to think he got the better of me."

"Please don't make me give you a speech about pride vs safety."

Peter shoved his feet into a pair of tennis shoes. "Are these yours?" he asked.

"It's just to get you home." Bruce smiled as he handed Peter a paper bag with his costume inside. He seemed to be in a much better mood than when Peter had seen him last, for which Peter was grateful. He wasn't always sure what to say or do when Bruce was broody.

They left the room and then entered the elevator together. "What about Cap?" Peter asked, fidgeting. "Is he..."

"He's resting," said Bruce. "He'll be fine."

"Okay. Good." Peter watched the floors tick by. He wasn't any closer to deciding how to deal with Steve when they were next face to face, and he was grateful for the extra time. Then there was Aunt May to consider... He patted himself down looking for his phone only to remember he had left it on a rooftop.

Tony was waiting for them in his personal parking level with his driver, who he introduced to Peter as Mr. Hogan. It must not have been a title he went by often, as he seemed to grow three sizes when Peter shook his hand and called him "sir." After promising Bruce and Tony again that he would be careful--and lay low--he hopped into the passenger side of a fairly nondescript black car and was whisked away.

"I'm not supposed to ask questions," said Mr. Hogan after they'd been on the road for a few minutes, "but are you Spider-Man?"

Peter braced his feet against the glove box. "Do I look like Spider-Man?"

"Spider-Kid, maybe," he said, laughing.

Peter laughed, too, even though it really wasn't funny. He felt enough like Spider-Kid already.

By the time Peter was dropped off in front of his house, he had decided that he would rather swing than go by chauffer every time. He hopped up the steps and reached for the door, only to remember his keys were in his backpack, still on a roof. It was late enough that he could climb to his window without getting spotting, but then he thought of Aunt May on the sofa. He sucked it up and knocked.

Footsteps rushed to the door. Peter put on a sheepish smile and tried to look as innocent and healthy as possible for when Aunt May answered. She looked exhausted, as expected; her eyes were red and despite the mild summer evening she had the blanket from the sofa wrapped around her shoulders. Without a word she ushered Peter inside and into her arms. He hugged her back, a familiar burn of emotion at the back of his throat.

Aunt May pulled back and touched his face with both hands. "Peter," she said gently, but then her eyes pinched at the corners, and she didn't say whatever she had been about to. "It's after midnight."

"Sorry, Aunt May," said Peter.

She gave him a pat and reluctantly let him go. "You'd better get some rest." Her smile was pained but sincere as she herded him toward the stairs. "We can talk in the morning."

They wouldn't talk in the morning, but it was a nice thought, so Peter said, "Okay," and kissed her on the cheek. He went to his room and listened to Aunt May straighten up a few things and then finally go to bed herself. Only after he heard her door shut did he finally change and crawl into bed.

It was tough being a super hero under your mom's roof.

***

In the morning, Aunt May prepared an extra-large breakfast of French toast, eggs, and bacon. Peter gulped it down happily. They didn't talk about the night before.

Rather than go straight to the Tower, he headed toward Woodside and found the rooftop he'd left his backpack on. Everything was intact, if a little damp from the morning dew. When he checked his phone, he was surprised to find a message from Gwen in his inbox.

"I know it's been a while," it said, and Peter smiled with nostalgia and the sound of her voice. They hadn't seen each other at all since graduation. "But I just wanted to make sure you're...you know, not dead. Text me or something, okay?"

Peter chewed his lip. It would have been easy to just send a text, but by the time he was at street level he found himself calling anyway. Gwen picked up on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hey," said Peter, looking up and down the street to remind himself of where the nearest subway station was. "Um, not dead yet. Just wanted you to know."

Gwen sighed. "Peter, thank God. I'm sorry, I know you don't need me checking up on you, but this time..."

"It's okay." Peter shrugged even though she couldn't see it. "Don't worry, it wasn't that bad. Nothing like the last time. Last few times."

Gwen was quiet for a moment, and then said, "Peter, everyone thinks you're dead."

Peter stopped walking. He nearly took the phone away from his ear to stare at it. "What? Why?"

"It's all over the internet. Someone Tweeted that you were puking blood--a few police officers confirmed. Then you disappeared with Iron Man and no one's heard or seen anything since. I guess Ms. Potts issued a statement or something saying you're okay, but no one believes it. They're waging internet warfare over you out there."

Peter shook his head in disbelief. "I...don't even have a Twitter," he said dumbly.

"Maybe you should update Spider-Man to the times, then. But really, at the very least you have to make an appearance."

Peter started off again, hefting his backpack higher up his shoulder. "Okay, tonight. I'm on my way to my internship or I'd do it now. But seriously? It's that big?"

"You can't underestimate social media, Peter," Gwen said sagely.

"Okay, okay. Man, this is dumb." He cleared his throat. "I mean, thanks for cluing me in. I had no idea everyone took it that seriously. Wasn't even real blood..."

Gwen gave a quiet chuckle. "Well, that's good to know, at least. But, um, I gotta go. Stay in touch, okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure." Peter rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "It was good to hear from you. Bye, Gwen."

"Bye, Peter."

Peter hung up, and it wasn't until he had stowed his phone that he realized what Aunt May must have been watching on the news all night. His heart sank a little, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. With another shake of his head he picked up his pace toward the subway.

***

Bruce braced himself before heading into the kitchen that morning. It had been a long night for everyone and he had no idea who would be up already, what they might want to talk about. He wasn't interested in what anyone had to say about how he handled Peter and especially how he felt about him.

Pepper and Steve were awake, sipping coffee as they watched some manner of morning television. Bruce found their intensity a little strange, and he poured himself a mug before joining. Both were too absorbed in what they were watching to acknowledge his approach. When he moved alongside Pepper and finally saw what had caught their attention, he understood.

It was Justin Hammer on one of the less popular morning talk shows. He was dressed impeccably, pressed and tanned and laughing along with the studio audience at some hammy joke or another. Bruce forced himself to drink his coffee, hoping that focus would help ward against the instinctual flash of anger that came with Hammer's smug face.

"Let's talk for a moment about the article posted by Miranda West just this morning," said the show's host. "Because she says that you and Tony Stark were, to quote directly, 'never friends.'"

"Really?" said Hammer with mock astonishment. " _Never_? She used that word?"

"Yes, never. Apparently Mr. Stark was insistent."

"But how can that be?" Hammer reached inside his jacket and pulled out an old photo. "Look at this," he said, handing it over. "Tony Stark and I having dinner in Paris, just two years ago."

The host's shoulders hitched with repressed humor, even though she'd obviously seen it before. The crew put the photo on the monitors for the audience to see and everyone laughed. It was indeed Tony Stark and Justin Hammer having dinner in Paris, but not together. Two photos had clearly been photoshopped together.

Pepper sighed in exasperation. "You have got to be kidding me."

Once the host and her viewers were through mocking Hammer for the obvious fake, he tried again. "Okay, okay," he said. "How about this? This is us in London over New Year's." He produced another manip which included a few scantily clad women for good measure, and got another round of laughter and teasing.

Pepper shook her head, muttering, "What the hell is he doing?"

"It's a tactic," said Steve, arms crossed as he glowered at the screen. "He wants us to see him as an imbecile, so that we'll underestimate him when the real attack comes." His eyes narrowed. "Never again."

"Where's Tony?" asked Bruce.

"In his workshop," said Pepper. "He doesn't need to see this--it'll just piss him off." She harrumphed. "I'm getting stupider just watching this myself."

"Okay, no, seriously," said Hammer as he reached into his jacket one more time. "This is the good one. You're gonna love this." He handed over the last photo. "Tony and I in Cancun, spring of '99. Come on, if cooking heroin together in a Mexican hotel doesn't make you friends, I don't know what does."

They showed the picture. Hammer's description was accurate, and Bruce squinted, trying to see the obvious flaw that made it a clear forgery like the rest. Nothing popped out right away.

"Shit," said Pepper, and Bruce and Steve both looked to her in surprise. Before either could ask the obvious question, the phone rang. With a look of dread Pepper transferred the call to her device and left the kitchen to answer. "It's Pepper. Yes, I'm watching," she said as she moved out of hearing range.

Steve glanced after her only briefly before turning his attention back to the show. "Is that a real picture?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know." Bruce rubbed his mouth and put his coffee aside. He suddenly didn't want anything in his stomach. "Something about it looks off but it's not as obvious as the others."

"Sounds like _someone_ thinks it's real."

Bruce wondered if Steve could actually hear what Pepper was saying with his Super Soldier ears. He tapped on the kitchen's main panel until it gave up the name of the caller: Edwards Air Force Base, extension 104.

"Funny story," Justin was carrying on as his audience clucked over the photo. "Just last night someone at Stark Tower ordered in naloxone. You know what that's for, don't you?"

"Why don't you enlighten us?"

"Treating heroin overdose."

"Son of a bitch," Bruce said under his breath.

The host had to fight for control of the studio as everyone started talking at once. "Okay, wait," she said. "Are you really accusing Tony Stark of being a drug addict? You're seriously doing this."

"No, no, no," said Hammer, and Bruce felt perspiration form on his brow. "I would never. It's just funny, that's all. Coincidence."

"Because it sounds like you're making a serious allegation."

"No, no. No. Come on, I'm not." He smirked at the camera. "I wouldn't do that to a friend."

Bruce left the kitchen. He moved swiftly through the penthouse and ended up on the balcony, letting a rush of summer air calm and center him. He stared at the building tops and drifting clouds until he could close his eyes without picturing Peter in a hospital bed, tubes in his wrist and nose. "Son of a bitch," he said again.

After a minute the door opened behind him. "Dr. Banner?" It was Steve.

"I'm all right," said Bruce, and he meant it. "I just couldn't listen to that anymore."

Steve came up beside him. He was tense, too, and he took in deep breath before saying anything more. "I read up on Justin Hammer last night. Everything from the Vanko Incident and a few things from before."

"I don't know him," said Bruce. "Not like Tony. But this is still..." He shook his head. "It's crazy. Who the hell does he think he is? I don't understand what he thinks he can gain. Everyone's going to know that photo was just as fake as the other two."

Steve frowned thoughtfully and said, "Have you ever played 'two truths and a lie?'"

"They played that back in 1940?"

"The point is to find the lie. But in order to do that, you first have to consider the possibility that any one of them could be true. You have to expand your perception."

Bruce's shoulders sagged as he understood Steve's point. "The suggestion itself is enough to get people wondering. Especially since the other two were that much more obvious." He swallowed. "This is going to get worse."

"A lot worse," Steve agreed.

"And it's not just about Tony's reputation or the Super Soldier Serum. It's about Iron Man, and Captain America, and Spider-Man." His fists clenched. "And the Hulk. It's about all of us."

"Reconnaissance," said Steve. "A surprise attack. Propaganda." He met Bruce's gaze seriously. "They're waging a war."

Bruce felt a chill from the thought. "That's General Ross for you. He doesn't think in lesser terms. Jesus."

Steve was quiet for a moment. He was working up to saying something, and Bruce considered trying to escape. "Dr. Banner," he said, and then corrected himself. "Bruce. I'm sorry if I was out of line last night."

"You were," said Bruce, not looking at him. "But I accept your apology." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "We're just both trying to protect him in our own way. Considering how often he gets into trouble, he could use all of us watching his back."

Steve continued to watch him a moment longer. Bruce understood--it wasn't over. Steve still knew the truth, but they weren't going to talk about it with so much else to worry about. At least it meant he had some time to think of an answer.

Pepper slipped outside. She still looked frustrated and halfway furious. "The interview's over."

While Bruce was considering tact, Steve came out and asked, "Was that last photo real?"

"No," she said immediately. "Of course not. You saw it--it was obviously fake."

"But there is a story there, isn't there?" said Bruce. "Why else would Colonel Rhodes call so fast?"

Pepper shifted back and forth. "Tony's on his way up," she said. "And we're going to sue that asshole." She turned back inside, and Steve and Bruce followed.

"I don't know why you're all freaking out over this thing," Tony said as he poured himself a fresh mug of coffee. "Hammer's a douchebag. Everyone knows it. No one will _ever_ take his word over mine, especially not over some crummy photoshops. He's only resorting to this bullshit because he has nothing better."

"You can't let him get away with saying that crap," said Pepper. "He just got out of prison himself--he is the last person who should be throwing stones."

Tony sat down at the table. He looked tired, and Bruce couldn't help but wonder if any of them had gotten real sleep that night. "I'm not handing him a lawsuit," he insisted. "Half the internet has already dissected those photos and they're not even the worst I've seen. Acknowledging him is only going to get him off and make me look bad." He raised his eyebrows at Pepper. "I know you know better."

"I do." She crossed her arms. "It's just so stupid. High school. Worse than high school."

"You can't take this too lightly," said Steve. "It all feels like a bad joke now, but it did last night when he was up here, too. This is only the first part of a larger plan."

"If there is a plan, it's not coming from Hammer. Someone is pulling his strings." Tony sipped his coffee. "It's a miracle he can dress himself in the morning let alone take on _us_."

Steve frowned, and Bruce could see his sharp blue eyes cutting straight through the bullshit, as his talent seemed to be. "Does he have anything on you?" he asked seriously. "Anything real?"

Tony didn't answer immediately. It wasn't long enough to be a guilty silence, but not quick enough to be entirely honest. "No," he said. "I promise, Hammer has nothing on me."

No one had an appetite for breakfast. As soon as the coffee was gone Steve left to contact Natasha for any new information, and Pepper retreated to her office to deal with the inevitable press. Only when they were alone did Bruce drag his chair closer to Tony and ask, "Why did Colonel Rhodes call when he saw that picture?"

Tony studied the bottom of his mug as if despising it for being empty. "Listen, Bruce," he said. "I meant it: Hammer has nothing on me. It's not like he's never had the chance to use it if he did." He set the mug down and gave the handle a flick, watching it spin. "But come on. By the time I was twenty-five I had a _billion_ dollars. I've done some things I'm not proud of. And not just the ones that blow up."

"It's not like we all don't have our skeletons," said Bruce. He could very nearly hear his own rattling away inside his skull. "But whatever you _think_ this man is capable of, he almost killed two of my small number of friends last night. I think it's time you told us what really happened between you and Hammer."

"Nothing." Tony shrugged helplessly. "Nothing worthy of becoming a super-villain, anyway. He's a tool and I'm an asshole--it's that simple." When Bruce continued to stare at him, unconvinced, he sighed and turned to face him better. "We were never friends," he went on. "We were just, you know, kids. Rich kids with absent dads. We could have formed a club. But the Hammer you've met? That try-so-hard used car salesmen sleaze? He's always been like that. Always trying to be on the in. Hell, I felt sorry for him for a while. Before he ran the business you could almost tolerate him for a night out, even. He did have good connections. Somehow."

Bruce listened attentively. "So you did socialize."

"Yeah, when we were young. It's kind of inevitable when you're a certain age with a certain income." Tony shook his head in frustration. "But he's been unbearable for at least a decade or more. He crossed all those lines Obi and I..." He twitched and then carried on. "Anyway, it doesn't surprise me that he'd fall in with someone like Ross. But something must have happened in that prison, because I never would have imagined him at this level."

"Well he's certainly not interested in subtlety," said Bruce, "so I'm sure he'll be more than happy to tell you when the time comes."

"Yeah." Tony gripped the handle of his mug, just for a moment showing in his white knuckles how much of his own anger he was holding at bay. "I can't wait."

Bruce went back to his room. He wasn't in a mood for science, but given what they were up against he felt obligated to get all the knowledge he could. Armed with an energy drink and some Skittles, he sat down at his computer and opened up Steve's USB.

"I feel fine," said Steve in the video, seated in an empty quarantine room.

Natasha was in the chair across from him. "I know you do. But that's not what your chart is saying about you. So we need to talk."

Bruce let the video play on. "We'll start with the moment it happened," said Natasha. "Can you tell me the last thing you remember?"

"It's not entirely clear. Everything happened so fast." Steve shifted in his chair, clearly reluctant to share details. Bruce knew better than to think it was because he didn't have any. "Dr. Banner told me to lie down on the couch. He looked frightened. That's when I really understood how serious it was."

Bruce frowned. He didn't remember being frightened. Anxious, maybe.

"Did anyone say anything to you?" Natasha prompted. "Something that might have made you angry?"

"No. I wasn't angry. I was..." Steve pushed his hand back through his hair. "Someone said that maybe the spider bite would give me super powers. Something like that."

"And that upset you."

"No. No, I just..." Steve shifted again, his hands clenching against his knees, and even with the poor resolution Bruce saw clearly when Natasha began to tense for her escape. By the time Steve's hand blackened she was already out of her chair, and then out of the room. Bruce watched, leaning into his templed fingers as Steve went from soldier to wailing beast.

It happened in a matter of seconds. Years of experience had given Bruce the means to delay his own transformation, sometimes to control it entirely, but he remembered those early days when the anger overtook him just as swiftly. It was painful to see it in someone like Steve Rogers, but he forced himself to keep his eyes on the screen. Steve crashed against the walls of the room, screaming and clawing. He circled around several times trying to find a way out like a rat in a barrel. Then the lights went out. There was a brief moment where the screen was pitch black, and Bruce tensed in frustration, but then the camera switched to night vision. A hissing sound filled the speakers.

"Gas," Bruce muttered. He didn't expect it to work, and was surprised when Steve retreated into the corner. With pained groans the beastly Steve wrapped his long limbs around himself and hunkered down, shivering. Several minutes later, he finally slipped unconscious and reverted back to his human state.

The lights came back on, and Natasha entered, joined by Director Fury. "Looks like you found the trigger," he said. The recording stopped.

Bruce immediately clicked on the next file. It was another interview shot from the same angle, but instead of a shirt and pants Steve was dressed in a hospital gown. Natasha entered. She said he looked good.

"I don't want to destroy any more clothing," Steve said glumly.

Natasha took the seat across from him. She looked perfectly composed despite the events of the previous interview. Bruce paused to check the date and time; only sixteen hours had passed. "If it means getting you back to normal, destroy all the SHIELD T-shirts you want," said Natasha. "Your vitals are finally panning out. Maybe you just need to get it out of your system."

"I want it out, but not like that," said Steve, and Bruce wasn't sure if he would have said the same thing.

"Then I guess we have to talk some more." 

Steve took in a deep breath. He still looked uncomfortable and anxious, but he nodded. Natasha gave him a moment to be fully composed before she asked, "You have something against super powers?"

"No." Steve flexed his fingers. "I'm already just on the edge of human."

"But when someone told you that, it upset you," Natasha persisted. "Do you have something against Spider-Man?"

"Of course not," Steve said immediately.

"Did it make you angry that he essentially poisoned you?"

"No--I wasn't angry. I was..." Steve hesitated again, his feet pulling in against the chair legs. He shook his head and finally admitted, "I was afraid."

Natasha's posture softened just slightly. She gave the admission the respect it deserved. "What were you afraid of?"

With the truth out in the open, Steve continued on far more easily. "I was thinking about Johann Schmidt," he said. "About what he became because of that serum. About...Dr. Banner."

Natasha leaned closer. "You were afraid of becoming the Hulk?" she said, and Bruce felt his body tense, felt his skin draw tight.

"Not exactly." Steve lowered his head. "But maybe, in a way. It reminded me of the night before they took me for the Serum infusion. Dr. Erskine told me something."

"Told you what?"

A note of humor crept into Steve's voice. "That I might get super powers," he said, and though it was still hard to tell, Bruce could have sworn that Natasha smiled. "He said that the effects of the serum were affected by the man it was given to. He picked me because I was 'a good man.' And it terrified me." He folded his hands in his lap, rubbing the joint of his thumb where the spider had bitten him. "I never told anyone, but the truth is, I was up all night, terrified. I kept thinking, what if he's wrong? What if I'm not as good as he thinks I am? I've always tried to be, but what if, deep down... And when Dr. Banner looked at me like that, I started thinking about it all over again. What if this time, it gets down deep enough? What if I..."

Steve's hand began to shake, but Natasha didn't move. Even when the black spread from the bite mark she remained in her chair, patiently watching. Steve hunched forward, shuddering, gripping his wrist with his still human hand. Even knowing the recording was several weeks old, Bruce shrank back in his seat, waiting for the eerie scream of the spider. But then Steve took in several deep breaths. Steve clutched his clawed hand to his chest and fought back, the effort heart-breakingly evident in his pixel-blurred face. Bruce waited for him to fail, but within a minute he started to calm, and the color receded from his bare arm. By the time he released his own hand, it was fleshy and human again.

Natasha got out of her chair. "If there's one thing none of us have to worry about," she said, "it's what kind of man you are deep down, Captain Rogers." She touched his shoulder and leaned down, kissing the top of his head. Then she left, and the video ended.

Bruce didn't move for a long time. He stared blindly at the open folder, letting its contents seep down into him. The coffee in his stomach rose as a bitter taste at the back of his throat. Nothing Steve had said surprised him. He could have guessed it all ahead of time if he had bothered to think it through. Hearing it was something else entirely, and it made him angry that Steve could explain himself so easily, that Natasha could understand and have faith in him with so little effort. It was so simple for someone that good. Everyone else always made it sound so damn simple.

Bruce forced himself away from the computer. He gulped down half the pack of Skittles, took a shower, and went back to bed. JARVIS promised to not let anyone disturb him.

***

Peter worked hard all through his internship, even though it wasn't easy staying focused. Several times through the day he clicked away from his specs and looked up the latest gossip on Spider-Man and his "brush with death" the night before. Fortunately, it seemed that most people were on the side of believing in Spider-Man's survival, but it was surreal clicking through the pages of arguments and speculation. He had lunch with his peers and they filled him in on the interview with Justin Hammer that morning, laughing over the photoshops, indulging in righteous indignation on behalf of their employer. When Jonah jokingly suggested that maybe it was Spider-Man on heroin Peter nearly had to bite through his tongue.

He waited until everyone else had left and Mr. Heuller had logged him out before he slipped into the elevator. "JARVIS, it's Peter Parker," he said, even knowing JARVIS had long since added him to his voice recognition database. "Take me up to Dr. Banner's floor."

"Dr. Banner has requested that he not receive visitors," replied JARVIS.

"But it's me. Can't you at least tell him that it's me?"

"I'm afraid you're not of a sufficient clearance that I am able to override Dr. Banner's request for privacy, Mr. Parker."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Okay, well, can you take me to the floor just under him?"

"Captain Rogers is currently residing on that floor," said JARVIS.

"Oh..." Peter gulped, but after some consideration, he said, "Then can you let _him_ know I want to come up? I need to use his bathroom."

"There is a restroom available for public use on your current floor."

"Just tell him, all right? Unless he's hiding in his cave, too."

Peter could almost hear the AI sigh, but a moment later JARVIS relented, and the elevator began to ascend.

Peter stepped out into a floor with a broad, open arrangement. One portion was made up as a living space, with a serviceable kitchen, furniture and entertainment center, while another was stocked with exercise equipment. Steve was at the stove, cooking what smelled like sausage. He turned when Peter entered. "Hello, Peter. How are you feeling?"

"Hey. I'm good." Butterflies chased each other around Peter's stomach, but he came forward anyway. He had no idea what to say. "I mean, I'm still pretty weirded out by the whole thing, but, you know. I'm not puking."

Steve didn't look any more at ease than Peter felt, but he did smile. "I'm glad."

"Yeah, me, too." Peter peeked into Steve's fry pan. Sausage, beans, and rice. "Smells good," he said. "Do you like to cook?"

"By necessity. I wouldn't say I'm any good, though." Steve paused. "Would you like some?"

"Oh, no, I just..." Peter shifted from foot to foot. It didn't seem like Steve was going to say anything, so he figured it might be best to follow his lead. "Can I borrow your bathroom to change in?" Steve caught on right away, but before he could voice any protest, Peter added, "I'm not going to go look for trouble, I just want to get noticed. I don't want New York thinking I died up here last night or anything."

Steve shook his head. "I don't think you should be drawing attention to yourself. These people are after us, Peter. And you're an easy target."

"Gee, thanks. But seriously, I'm going to be super careful. I'll just let a few cameras snap my picture on my way home, that's all. Don't worry; I already got the safety lecture from Bruce."

It slipped out so easily, and he immediately wished he could take back the tiny remark. Fortunately for him, Steve stopped himself from saying anything about it. After only a moment of steady consideration, he nodded. "It's around the corner," he said. "On the left."

Peter internally sighed in relief. "Thanks."

He changed quickly into his suit. It had taken only minimal damage during the last fight, and as he smoothed it out he took a moment to look himself in the mirror. "You're fine," he told his reflection resolutely. "They barely touched you." He took in a deep breath. "You're gonna be just fine."

He shouldered his backpack and rejoined Steve in the kitchen. Steve pointed out which window he would be able to exit by, but before he left, he faced Steve with all the seriousness he could muster. "Captain, I just want you to know...Dr. Banner is a really great guy."

He wasn't really sure what he meant by it, or what he wanted Steve to take from it, but it felt good to say. It felt a little less good when Steve regarded him with a mixture of concern and disappointment. But then Steve nodded, and all he said was, "I know." With a nod of his own, Peter slipped out of the window and climbed up to Bruce's floor.

Most of the windows were dark, even though it was still early in the evening. Peter crawled around the side of the building until he found Bruce in the study, hunched in his computer chair. He rapped loudly on the glass and took a bit of guilty pleasure in Bruce's startled flinch. 

Bruce let him in. Peter wasn't sure what to make of his uneasy expression, and was bracing himself for a tense discussion, but Bruce suddenly pulled him close in a firm embrace. It wasn't often that Bruce initiated so strongly, and when Bruce lifted the mask up so they could kiss, Peter felt the strength rush out of his knees.

Peter hummed happily against Bruce's mouth and chuckled when they were separated. "Missing me already?" he teased.

Bruce kissed him again, but then his passion stuttered out, and he instead held Peter to his chest, his cheek against Peter's cheek. "I was just thinking I needed to see you," he said.

Peter's heart swelled behind his ribs. "Well, here I am. I must be psychic." He wrapped his arms tightly around Bruce's shoulders. Something was wrong--he could feel the tension spreading up and down the length of Bruce's spine. He tried not to let it become contagious. "Is everything all right? You told JARVIS not to let anyone up."

By the time Bruce answered, "I'm fine," it had been too long for it to be honest. "I've been working most of the day, is all. I didn't want to be interrupted."

"Then next time, tell JARVIS I'm an exception, okay?"

"Okay." Bruce tugged him into another kiss. "I will."

Peter met his lips gladly. He melted against Bruce's body, thrilling in the eager exploration of Bruce's hands over the contours of his suit. It had been a long time since he had come to visit Bruce in full costume and he could tell how much Bruce had missed it after all; he groped up and down Peter's long back, his fingertips teasing the legs of the spider design that covered it. He reveled in the slope of Peter's shoulders and squeezed his ass until Peter saw stars. It felt so good Peter wanted nothing more than to wrap him up, but for the first time he was the one that urged them apart.

"Wait," he said breathlessly, hating himself. He almost had to pry Bruce's hands off his backside, and he laughed. "Wait, you can't give me a boner now. I'm on a mission."

Bruce leaned back, both hands gripping the desk behind him as if he didn't trust them otherwise. There was something hot and unsteady in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"It's nothing. Nothing serious, anyway. I'm just going to make some rounds around Manhattan." Before Bruce could interrupt, Peter went on. "I already got the safety speech from Captain Rogers. I'm going to be careful; I just want people to see me. They need to know I'm okay."

"Why?" Bruce's knuckles were white. "Your safety is more important that their peace of mind. They'll see you soon enough--once this is all over."

"If Hammer is trying this hard to make Mr. Stark look bad, the same is going to come down on me eventually," Peter reasoned. "And my press is mixed enough as it is. I need the city's support." He pulled his mask all the way off. "I want them to know for sure that I'm one of the good guys."

Bruce sagged just slightly against the desk. "You are," he said, his voice hoarse. He lowered his eyes. "You always have been. They know that."

"Hey." Peter felt a chill, but he moved closer anyway, touching Bruce's face with both hands. "Are you really all right?" he asked quietly. "Not that I don't appreciate you jumping me, but you're acting really strange."

Bruce huffed petulantly. "No I'm not." He turned his face against Peter's hand. "I'm just tired."

Peter licked his lips, wishing he was better at all of this. Whatever was upsetting Bruce was something he could fix, he was sure of it, but he didn't know where to start or what to say. With a sigh he hugged Bruce around the shoulders again. At first Bruce cringed away, but his fatigue won out, and he leaned into Peter. He kept his hands on the desk.

"Do you want me to stay?" Peter asked, massaging the back of Bruce's neck. It seemed to help. "I can do it tomorrow, if you..."

"Your birthday's tomorrow."

"I know." Hoping to lighten the mood, Peter asked, "Did you get me anything?"

Bruce chuckled. "Can you come up after your internship?"

Peter shivered down to his toes. "Yeah," he said, already out of breath again. "Yeah, of course." He thought of what Bruce intended and was too afraid to even tease, in case it made him change his mind. He didn't, however, have any qualms in letting his hands drift. He fingered Bruce's shoulders, traced down his biceps and then back, playing over Bruce's chest. Anticipation made him ache and he suddenly wanted to touch Bruce all over. "I'll be here."

"Good." Bruce took one hand off the desk. "There's something we need to talk about."

Peter's heart sank, but then Bruce slid his fingers through his hair. When he took hold, Peter's apprehension was seared away by the excitement of being drawn into another heavy kiss. Bruce still kept one hand clenched on the edge of the desk, like an anchor, but when Peter leaned into him, his body was welcoming. He held Peter tightly as he kissed him long and hungry. Peter moaned, his palms stick involuntarily to Bruce's chest.

"I'll stay right now," he whispered, licking his lips. "We can celebrate early."

"No." Bruce took in a deep breath and gently urged him back. "No, you should go. You're right--they should see you." Before Peter could get too far, though, he darted in for one last kiss. "Just promise you'll be careful."

"I promise." Peter reluctantly let go and took several steps back. He breathed in and out as he retrieved his mask. "Damn spandex," he laughed as he adjusted the costume around his crotch. "It's no good for either of us."

Bruce laughed, too, which he was uncommonly grateful for. He looked so much better when he smiled. "Make sure you text me when you get home," he said. "I'll be watching the news, but I want to know when you're safe."

"I will. I won't stay out late." Peter pulled his mask on to hide his blush. "And you know, Bruce. If you're ever thinking you need to see me...you can just ask."

Bruce sank into his desk chair. "Okay," he said, and the quiet happiness in his face threatened Peter's resolve all over again. "Good night, Peter."

"'Night." Even then Peter didn't leave right away. It wasn't until Bruce shooed him off that he managed to get his feet working, and he hopped onto the window sill. The city stretched out below him, orange in the evening light and suddenly daunting. Peter shook out his nerves and jumped, his web catching the next building.

As he sailed away, he didn't notice Bruce slump forward, rubbing his face with both hands.


	7. Chapter 7

General Ross was in his hotel room, enjoying a whisky while he worked, when he got the call he had been waiting for.

"I just got a call from the lab," said Norman Osborn. 

Ross couldn't help but wonder how the poor old bastard was still alive, sounding like he did. "And?"

"They said that someone delivered Dr. Banner's old research data and a sample of his serum."

"You said it would help, didn't you?" said Ross, making no effort to hide his satisfaction.

Osborn coughed loudly. " _You_ said you didn't have access."

"Access isn't the only way to get what you need."

"Hey," said Hammer from somewhere on Osborn's end. "Ask him if he paid off Nathan Lemon."

Ross grimaced in irritation. "Why is Hammer there with you?"

Osborn went back to coughing. "I have him doing some work for me, too," Hammer talked over him, closer to the phone that time. "We should have set something up together. We might have gotten a package deal."

"My scientists are still at work," said Osborn once he had regained his composure. "The new materials will help. They've said already that the serum you provided showed some important differences from what they're seeing in our blood sample, which they think they can correct. It is only a matter of time."

"Well, when I'm wrong, I'm wrong," said Hammer. "Turns out he was useful after all."

"Hammer," snapped Ross. "Give me and Osborn a moment to speak in private."

Hammer chuckled. "Sure thing. All the time you need."

Ross waited. He heard Osborn and Hammer exchange a few words but couldn't make them out. Frustration burned between his ears, but he didn't speak again until Osborn said, "He's gone."

"I've had enough of him," said Ross. "I don't know how you're able to put up with him at all, let alone have him living there with you. Have you seen the nonsense he's been spreading about Stark? This so-called 'revenge' plan of his is a joke."

Osborn sighed. "I don't know what he hopes to accomplish with that," he said, "but the plan he has for the Iron Man will work. Your friends in the military will see it, and they will come to Oscorp. It will secure us as the successor to all Hammer's contracts that were Stark's before. He is more than you give him credit for, General."

"So blow him already," Ross grunted. "Offing Stark doesn't do anything for me. I still need that chamber."

"So do I." Osborn hesitated and then said, "I have men on it. They are combing Hammer's tax records, his purchases. They will unravel that 'red tape.' But in the meantime, we have to do something about Spider-Man."

Ross gulped down the rest of his whiskey. "Why?"

"Have you seen the press? He's out there, now." As he continued to ramble on, Ross called up the latest news feeds on his tablet. "It's like he rose from the dead. The whole city is in love with him."

Every news site was clogged with Spider-Man--phone pictures, blurry videos of him swinging through Manhattan, even Spider-Man posing with a construction crew, giving a thumbs-up to the camera. "So?" said Ross.

"Spider-Man was one of _my_ conditions," Osborn said angrily. "And now he's more popular than ever. If you want your share of the serum results you need to do something."

"Have Hammer do it, if you think he's so smart."

Osborn growled, the sound of it rumbling out of him like some kind of animal. "When Hammer has outlived his usefulness, I get rid of him myself," he said. "Is that what you want to hear? But this isn't over until I have Spider-Man. He _stole from me_. And he's not--"

Osborn was interrupted by a coughing fit; it sounded almost wet. Ross held the phone away from his ear. He had given up wondering what was actually wrong with Norman Osborn, but it still filled him with a kind of dread. He wasn't often surrounded by men who displayed their own mortality so blatantly. "Fine," he said once the other end of the line had quieted. "I'm sure the FBI has a file on him somewhere. Fury, too, not that I expect he'll be willing. I'll see what I can do." He snorted. "Or just tell your mercenaries to shoot him on sight next time."

"I already have."

"Good. Then we're done here." Ross hung up and turned back to the tablet. Osborn was right--Spider-Man seemed to be the man of the hour. "He's taking the heat off of Stark," he muttered. "Hammer can't be happy about that, either." The thought made him smirk. "Arrogant little shits, both of them."

Hammer and Osborn could both stew, for all he cared. He turned off his phone and tablet and went to bed.

***

When Peter woke up on his eighteenth birthday, he was fairly sure his feet wouldn't touch the ground all day.

He leapt out of bed, dashed between the bathroom and bedroom in three different outfits before deciding on one, and finally flew down the stairs. He was halfway through breakfast before he even registered what he was eating. Aunt May was in a better mood as well. She hummed a cheerful tune as she sat down with him, and he wondered if she had seen any of the coverage from his trip through downtown. He was eager to look it up himself; it had been something of a blur, swinging from building to building as people shouted and pointed. He'd even seen a pair of cops wave to him.

"So," said Aunt May. "What would you like to do for your birthday?"

Peter gulped down half a glass of orange juice as if it might drown the butterflies. "Um, actually..." He wiped his mouth with a napkin. "The other interns said they'd take me out for dinner after we logged out."

"Oh?" Aunt May's expression struggled between pleased and concerned. "But you've been out late the last two nights."

"Yeah, but this isn't like that." Peter scuffed his feet under the table. "We're just going to get dinner. It's Friday and I'm eighteen now. And we're Stark interns! We want to blow off some steam."

"Well...all right," said Aunt May. "But if you're going to be drinking, I want you to take a cab home."

Peter heaved a sigh. "We're not going to be drinking. We're just going to get some food and maybe hang out at Jonah's. He lives only a few blocks from the tower."

Aunt May shook her head wisely. "I had an eighteenth birthday party once, Peter. I'm not going to tell you not to drink, I just want to know you'll be safe. You can call me anytime."

Peter rolled his eyes, but he already felt guilty for bending the truth, so he said, "Okay, okay. Whatever happens, I'll be careful. And I'll text you to keep you updated."

"Good." Aunt May continued to eat her breakfast. "Then if you have time for your aunt tomorrow, you can open your presents then."

Peter laughed. "Come on, Aunt May..." But his thoughts were already a hundred miles away.

At the Tower, everyone was talking about superheroes. They swapped videos of Spider-Man's triumphant returned and declared Candice's the winner: Peter had swung right past her window on purpose, knowing she always had her webcam on in the evening. It was joked several times that Peter ought to move to Manhattan if he wanted to catch a shot of his own, being the photography buff among them. Peter laughed and said he'd think about it.

He spent the morning in a haze of excitement. His foot tapped incessantly until Mr. Hueller told him he was making everyone antsy. It was almost unbearable, thinking about Bruce a dozen floors above him, doing sciencey things and maybe even preparing for the evening. Several times he had to drag his eager brain back into focus for fear of embarrassing himself in front of everyone. But he knew that even if Bruce backed down from going all the way, at least they'd get _some_ time together. He wouldn't have invited Peter up only to leave him empty-handed.

At lunchtime, Peter found a quiet corner of the cafeteria to call Bruce from. "I told Aunt May this morning that I was getting dinner with Jonah and everyone else," he said. "And then they actually invited me. I didn't know how to say no..."

"Go ahead," said Bruce. "You can come up after." He chuckled. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."

Peter squirmed happily in his seat. "Do you need me to bring anything?"

"Just you." Peter could hear him smiling and he had to end the call quickly before his imagination got the better of him.

The afternoon passed in a blur, and before Peter knew it he and the other interns were crowding around a table in the corner of a cozy restaurant. He made a face at the menu prices, but was reassured by his peers that covering the tab was their birthday gift for the night. They laughed and ate and blew off steam, and it may have been the most attention Peter have ever gotten outside of his Spider-Man suit. He enjoyed himself immensely and even messaged a picture of them to Aunt May to prove it.

But at the back of his mind, he never forgot about what came after. Once the dinners and desserts had been cleared away, Peter bid goodnight to his coworkers--his _friends_ \--and headed back for the tower. JARVIS only gave him a minimal amount of lip about his credentials before letting him up to Bruce's floor.

His palms were sweating. He wiped them off on his pants and took a deep breath. "It's not a big deal," he said, dancing from foot to foot as the floors ticked by. "He's probably going to say no again anyway. But if he doesn't...it's not really that big a deal, right?"

The doors opened, and with another deep breath, Peter stepped out.

Bruce was waiting for him in the living room, reclining on the sofa with his heels on the coffee table. As soon as Peter entered he flicked off whatever TV news program he had been watching and straightened up. His smile was warm and genuine and nervous. It made Peter's hands start to sweat all over again.

"Peter," Bruce greeted. "Did you have a good time with--"

Peter took Bruce's head in both hands and kissed him. It seemed as good a way of breaking the tension as any, and Bruce's tiny hum proved him right. "Yeah," he said, leaning in. Bruce's hands instinctually went to his waist. "I had a great time, but I still couldn't wait to see _you_."

Bruce chuckled through another eager kiss. "Happy birthday, Peter."

Peter shrugged out of his backpack and let it drop. As soon as it was out of the way Bruce wrapped his arms around Peter's back and drew him in. Their bodies slotted together perfectly. Peter murmured wordless encouragements between their lips, trying to convince Bruce with every sound and sway that they were perfect together. There was no reason to stop.

Bruce tilted his head back. "Someone's in a good mood," he teased. "Do you want your present now?"

"Yeah," Peter said quickly. "Yeah..." His fingers trickled down Bruce's shoulders. "Right now."

Bruce chuckled again, his voice a little breathless. "I did actually get you something," he said as he eased Peter back. "Sit down."

Peter sighed and heaved himself onto the sofa. "You didn't have to get me anything." He had the brief thought that he'd be happy never having another birthday present again if only Bruce would put out.

"It's your eighteenth," said Bruce. He moved around the sofa and pulled a bundle wrapped in brown paper. "I hope you'll get some use out of it."

He handed the bundle over. It was about the size of a soccer ball and heavier than it looked. Curiosity piqued, Peter tore into the paper while Bruce took a seat next to him. Inside was a leather shoulder bag with a padded pouch and durable straps. "Whoa," said Peter, toying the material between his fingers. "This is heavy-duty. It should hold up to swinging really well."

"Open it," said Bruce.

Peter flushed with excitement as he undid the buckle and reached inside. His fingertips met a smooth casing and he knew immediately what it was. With much greater care than he had been showing, he pulled free a sleek, black digital camera.

"It's something of a chimera, to be honest," said Bruce as Peter pored over the device. "I couldn't find one with a case as durable as I figured it would need to be, so I had Tony help me with that. The internal mechanisms and lenses are from a Nikon D7100. Some of the software JARVIS overwrote. You know how he is."

There was documentation in the bottom of the bag, and Peter flipped hastily through to the technical specs of the camera. He was in shock. He was a little afraid even holding the thing--his fingers stuck to it involuntarily. "You butchered a thousand dollar camera for me?" he said incredulously.

"We may have voided the warranty," Bruce admitted. "But on the bright side, it's nearly indestructible."

Peter's jaw flapped stupidly in want of a response. When he wasn't able to hold off any longer, he flicked the camera on and held it up. The display was crystal clear, and when he toggled the menu, it switched between night vision, infra-red, and an informational view that began cataloguing different items in the room. "Holy shit," he muttered. When he turned the camera on Bruce, it automatically recorded an image of his face and identified him. "There's a little JARVIS in this thing?"

"More or less." Bruce smiled hopefully. "You mentioned a few weeks ago that you were into photography, didn't you? I didn't know what else to get you, since every idea for the suit and the webbing I tell you right away, and then it wouldn't be a surprise..."

Peter packed the camera gently back into its pouch, which he set on the table. "I love it," he said, moving closer until they were hip to hip. As they kissed, his heart rose into his throat. "I love it," he said again, but at the back of his mind he was one word off. He wondered if Bruce could hear it. "Thank you."

Bruce kissed him back, but there was tension in his hand when he gripped Peter's, a hesitation in his mouth that shouldn't have been there. It reminded Peter of the night before, and he leaned back. "What's the matter? For real, this time."

Bruce lowered his eyes guiltily. "I didn't want to do this on your birthday," he said. "But I have something important to tell you."

Peter tensed at Bruce's side. "You're not about to say you're leaving, are you?"

"No." Bruce smiled reassuringly. "No, I'm not going anywhere. But come with me. I should show you."

Bruce led him into the bedroom. Peter's grip tightened, and without realizing he rose up on his toes. He mentally talked himself down when he realized that Bruce was heading for the computer. "You've got some science to show me? I'm always game."

Bruce sat down in front of the computer, and as he clicked through some files, Peter hopped onto the desk. "I've been working on the DNA sample you gave me," said Bruce. "Along with the spider. I'm not an expert in this field, Peter. I can only do so much. But I have learned a few things."

Peter gulped. He was embarrassed to admit to himself that he hadn't given the spider much thought since Bruce took it off his hands, except for the trouble it had caused. He kicked his shoes off, letting his feet dangle off the desk. "Okay."

"Good news first," said Bruce. "The blood sample you gave me is incredibly stable." He called it up on the screen, and Peter was able to recognize a few things from his time working with Dr. Connors. "The radiation level is very low, but it hasn't dissipated. So I expect you can go on being virtually no danger to yourself or others for a long time, and there's nothing to indicate that you might lose your abilities someday, either."

Peter nodded along. "That's good to know," he said, not letting on just how much of a relief that was. He licked his lips. "So...the bad news?"

"Well, it's not bad news as much as it is...a mystery." Bruce turned his chair to better face Peter. His eyes were heavy and serious, popping every bubble of excitement Peter had spent all day wrestling under control. "I don't know exactly what it means yet, but I'm almost positive that the venom in Oscorp's spider is lethal to humans in even the smallest doses."

"Lethal?" Peter felt a chill and forced a laugh to push through it. "I'm kind of still here. And so is Cap. Um, Captain Rogers."

"Captain Rogers survived that bite because he had been treated with a serum," said Bruce. "A serum that was designed to be activated by a specific wavelength of radiation. It's given him certain immunities. If not for that, I don't know what would have happened." He clicked on a new file and called up more test results. "Every other test I ran confirmed it: humans can't survive a bite from these spiders. I suspect that's why Oscorp wasn't willing to admit that you stole it. It might have ended with an investigation."

"So that makes me...what?" asked Peter, though he suddenly wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Bruce hesitated only a moment before taking Peter's hand. "I don't know," he admitted. "That venom rewrote entire portions of your DNA. Without a DNA sample from before you were bitten, there might be no way of knowing what it was that allowed you to survive."

Peter took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. It wasn't the worst news he could have expected out of Bruce; he already had enough mysteries in his life that one more couldn't make much of a difference. As he watched Bruce's face, however, he realized there was something more. "You have a theory, don't you?"

"I do," he said. "And I wasn't sure I was going to tell you, because I know there's no way to ever prove or disprove it. I even tried to ask Dr. Connors about it."

Peter leaned back, his hand slipping out of Bruce's. "You saw him?"

"My field trip with Tony two nights ago," Bruce explained. "I visited him at Rikers. He was able to confirm that the spider that bit you was one of your father's creations."

The whole room seemed to grow a little smaller. "My dad? Wait." Peter shook his head. "What did you tell Dr. Connors about me?"

"Nothing he didn't already know or suspect," said Bruce. "He told me that the spider your father bred while at Oscorp was altered at the larval stage with human DNA. It may not look any more 'human' than a normal spider, but the evidence is there, in its genetic code."

When Peter realized what Bruce was suggesting, he leaned back even further, until his back was to the wall. "You think he used my DNA."

Bruce was quiet for a moment, maybe judging if Peter was prepared. "Yes," he said at last. "I do."

"But why?" Peter shrugged, trying to ease the tension out of his shoulders and ribcage. "Why would he do that?"

"I don't know," said Bruce, and Peter was suddenly very tired of hearing that. "But I think what it means is that...you're special, Peter." His hand clenched against the desk, missing Peter's. "How or why, I don't know, but you are. Something inside you made it possible for your father to play God with these creatures, and now...they've returned the favor in a strange way. The probability of you being bit by that spider and surviving--of it having the effect on you that it did--are astronomical. I wouldn't believe it if I wasn't seeing it for myself."

He leaned closer, his eyes suddenly bright with scientific curiosity. "It's practically a miracle. And the fact that now _we've_ met. If you were somehow primed ahead of time to absorb low levels of radiation, it's...I can't even tell you what that means for my work. It's what the entire Super Soldier Serum project was based on. If only I'd met you sooner--if there was still some sample of your DNA we could refer to, it would change _everything_."

Peter lowered his eyes. Bruce's words sank into him not unlike the radiation he was talking about, changing him from the inside out. He didn't know what to make of it all, until one thought rose up above all others, strangling his throat for long moments before he was able to speak the truth that had haunted him for years.

"I get it," he said. "What you're really saying." His toes curled. "My parents are dead because of me."

Bruce straightened. "What?"

"You're saying I was the key to my dad's work," Peter went on, his insides twisting around each other. "My parents didn't just leave town, they ran away--away from Oscorp, so that they wouldn't get their hands on the research. That's why they left it with me. Left _me_. Isn't that it?" He shuddered as all the pieces seemed to fall into place. "They were protecting me. And when Oscorp couldn't get what they wanted, they killed them."

"Peter, that's not..." Bruce started to say, but Peter saw through him.

"What else did Dr. Connors say?" Peter interrupted. "Did he admit it? He didn't just avoid me all those years out of spite, did he?"

"He said..." Bruce grimaced, but he got the words through. "He wanted me to tell you that he's sorry."

Peter sagged against the wall, all the strength flowing out of him. "Then it's true," he murmured. He couldn't stop the bitter emotion from welling up in his chest, making his throat hurt. "It's all true."

"No, wait." Bruce stood from his chair and moved in front of Peter. "We don't know any of this for certain," he said, rubbing Peter's knees.

"No, it's okay. It makes sense." Peter tried to shrug it off, but by then his eyes were starting to water. He wiped his face on his sleeve. "I'm just getting a little sick of finding out everything's my fault, that's all."

"Peter," Bruce said sharply, and he couldn't help but flinch. "No one's saying anything is your fault. Do you understand?" He took Peter's hands in his and squeezed. "Whatever your parents were working on, whether Oscorp had something to do with their deaths, none of that is on you. It wasn't your fault, any of it."

"But it's still _because of_ me, right?" said Peter. He sank deeper into his shoulders, but with Bruce gripping his hands he couldn't wipe his eyes again; he hated himself for showing so much weakness in front of Bruce. "It's the same thing."

" _Stop it_." Bruce grabbed him by his belt loops and pulled, drawing him to the edge of the desk. "Peter, look at me," he said, and when Peter couldn't do it, he took Peter's face in his hands. "Listen to me. I know something about guilt, all right? I do. And I'm telling you, you have nothing to feel guilty for." He rubbed Peter's cheeks with his thumbs. "Your father was a brilliant man. He made hard choices but they were _his_ choices. There's no point blaming in yourself for other people's decisions. Okay?" When Peter kept his eyes lowered and didn't answer, Bruce repeated, "Okay, Peter?"

"Okay," said Peter.

Bruce sighed, and though at first he didn't seem to know where to go from there, he drew Peter fully into his arms. "Come'ere," he murmured, and Peter immediately twisted around him. Emotion strangled his breath and left him shaking. Bruce held him, stroking his back, his breath on Peter's neck.

"I'm sorry," Bruce whispered. "I wish I had more answers for you."

Peter wanted to tell Bruce it was all right. If he'd been able, he would have reminded Bruce of everything he had just said and thanked him for even the little information they had. But every time he tried, his throat closed up again. He couldn't stop thinking about his parents' turned backs through the screen door as they stepped off Aunt May's front porch. It was the only clear memory of them he had left.

A few minutes later, Peter eased him back. "I need to go to the bathroom," he said.

He cleaned up as best he could, and once he was on his way out, he at least felt as if he was in one piece. His nerves he couldn't vouch for, but when he rejoined Bruce in the bedroom, the sight made him pause. Bruce was seated on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees and chin on his knuckles. He looked just as burned out as Peter felt.

Peter climbed onto the bed, making no attempt to hide his approach as he settled down behind Bruce. When he nestled against Bruce's back it reminded him of riding Hulk through the city at night. The world felt a little safer, and he closed his eyes, reminding himself how lucky he was. Bruce had gone to a lot of trouble for him. Bruce understood what he was going through and was doing everything he could to make it easier. It meant something.

"Hey," said Peter, wrapping his arms around Bruce's stomach, his chin on Bruce's shoulder. "Remember when I used to come over, and we'd just...eat junk food, and talk about science?"

Bruce covered Peter's hands with his. "Yeah."

"I miss that."

Bruce sighed. "Yeah. Me, too."

Peter curled his fingers in Bruce's shirt. "Next time you're looking at my genes, I want to be there for it, okay?" he said. "I want to learn some of this stuff. It's _my_ DNA, after all."

"Of course. I'll help you however I can." Bruce tilted his head back, and their cheeks rubbed. "I'm sorry," he said, "for ruining your birthday."

"It's not _ruined_." Peter shifted. He wished he could have stayed pressed up against Bruce's strong back all night, letting it warm and support him. But barring that... "There's still time for you to make it up to me," he said quietly.

Bruce didn't answer right away. He took his time, tracing Peter's fingers, staring at the ceiling. Just when Peter was about to back down, Bruce let go and turned on his hip to try and see Peter better. "You're really sure?" he asked.

"Yes." Peter drew his arms in so he could turn, too, and met Bruce's gaze seriously. "I'm sure," he said, and the truth of that statement resonated in him more strongly than ever. "I just...I really care about you. And I want to be with you." He drew himself up as best he could. "And that's not wrong, no matter how young I am, or how old you are. This is what I want."

Bruce watched him closely, and when Peter was finished, he smiled slightly. "All right." He leaned in. "I believe you."

Peter thrilled with his victory, made even better when Bruce kissed him. Bruce's lips were tender and warm, and with every beat that passed, they grew less reserved. Peter tried not to let himself get carried away too fast, but when Bruce began to urge him onto the bed, everything quickly grew muddled. He let Bruce prod him onto his back, and the cushy foam of the mattress beneath him sent his heart racing. They had never fooled around in a bed before. He was used to making out in chairs and against walls, but there was something instantly different and intimidating about sinking into blankets and pillows with Bruce hovering over him.

"We'll go slow," Bruce said, lowering his weight. Peter spread his knees to accommodate him, and they both shivered as their bodies came together. "Tell me if you want me--"

"I'll be fine," Peter interrupted. He wrapped his arms around Bruce's shoulders and his legs around Bruce's waist, sealing him in tight. "We'll just go slow."

"Slow," Bruce repeated, and then he kissed Peter again.

They _started_ slow, at least. For a while Peter was very content to lie back and enjoy each long kiss. They had improved a lot together since their first frenzied encounter, and he had learned to revel in every slight pressure of their lips, every tiny murmur. There wasn't anything he loved more than the simple intimacy of Bruce's mouth seeking pleasure from his. He all but vibrated with happiness when Bruce's tongue slipped past his lips, eager to be fondled and sucked. The whole world may as well have existed between each hissing breath they shared.

But Peter wanted more, and he wasn't afraid to ask for it. Finally having a bed beneath him as leverage, he arched against Bruce's body. He wrapped him up with his legs and squeezed in a pleading, unsteady rhythm. Bruce groaned low in his throat--the best kind of victory. It wasn't long before his always tenuous self-control began to fray, and he rocked against Peter's hips. 

Peter continued to encourage him with his knees and ankles. The friction against his groin relit every fire in him that their somber conversation had tried to douse. Arousal surged to the forefront, making hard, sloppy art of their romantic kisses. Peter stuck his hands to Bruce's back and pulled, trying to draw him tighter, to make him understand how badly he needed this.

Bruce pushed up on his elbows, but he didn't try to escape any further than that--not that Peter would have let him. "Have you thought about how you want to do this?" he asked, his lips skating along the shell of Peter's ear.

"You mean..." Peter drew his feet higher and his knees wider, trying to get more of that sweet pressure against his swelling cock. Bruce pumped into him and made it that much harder to think. "Which of us... who's on top?"

Bruce slid one hand under Peter's shirt, and the touch of hot fingers to his bare skin made Peter shiver all over. "If you want to put it that way."

Peter's mind went blank. All he could think about were Bruce's fingertips drawing idle patterns along his ribs. "You feel so good," he mumbled dumbly.

Bruce chuckled and granted him a long kiss. "So do you."

He pulled back, and Peter wasn't sure whether to cry or punch him, until two strong hands grabbed his elbows and pulled him upright. Peter had to rearrange his legs to sit comfortably in Bruce's lap, but it was worth it: Bruce's wide hands peeling his shirt off would have made up for just about anything. Goose bumps rose on his exposed skin and he melted beneath Bruce's strong massage to his shoulders and back.

"Since it's your first time, I think you should lead," said Bruce. He drew Peter's hands to the front of his shirt, and almost without thinking about it, Peter began to undo the buttons. "But I'll still do most of the work."

"Okay," Peter said absently. He was determined to get his hands on Bruce and he would have agreed to anything.

At last Bruce's shirt was fluttering off the side of the bed to join Peter's. Before they went any further Peter took a moment to explore, tracing the contours of Bruce's shoulders, running his fingers through the soft hair of Bruce's chest. It was new to him, having so much bare flesh against his, and his heart began to pound. What they were about to do became more real with each moment.

"You okay?" asked Bruce.

"I'm fine." Peter gripped the back of Bruce's neck and kissed him. "Show me."

Bruce leaned forward. At first Peter tensed, but Bruce's arms around him were so sturdy, he had no reason to fear falling. He let Bruce lay him out on the bed again and tried to stay still when Bruce reached for his fly. His nerves began to creep up on him. He watched with wide eyes as Bruce unzipped his pants and drew them down, exposing the bulge in his underwear. Bruce's smile made him feel exhilarated and vulnerable at once, and he lifted his hips in hopes that Bruce would just carry on.

"It's okay to be nervous," Bruce said as he pulled Peter's pants off and then his socks. 

"I'm not nervous," Peter lied.

Bruce shook his head as he removed his own pants. "Be nervous. It's okay." He stretched out over Peter again. "Kiss me."

Peter was all too happy to comply. As they twisted together only two layers of thin fabric separated them, and he moaned, trying to buck into and shy away from Bruce's erection at once. He felt as if the synapses in his brain were starting to misfire and he didn't know what to do with himself. The kissing helped. He knew how to kiss Bruce, and how he liked for Bruce to kiss him, and it centered gravity beneath him once more. He didn't realize his hands had been shaking until they stopped, soothed by the familiarity of meeting lips.

Bruce gave him one last peck and then left again. "I assume you've done some research," he said as he reached into the bedside drawer.

"Um, yeah. Sort of." Peter blushed darkly. "If porn counts."

Bruce's eyes flickered to him with great interest, which he quickly tried to cover with a cough. "Sure, that counts." He handed Peter a wrapped condom and set a bottle on the mattress next to him.

Peter smirked at Bruce's flustered expression, but he gave up trying to think of a tease when Bruce pulled his underwear down. He tensed, hissing quietly as his cock bobbed free. A hundred self-conscious worries assaulted him at once--maybe he wasn't big enough, maybe he curved a little too much--but those vanished when Bruce wrapped his fingers around the shaft. Peter had to bite his lip and employ every inch of his self-control to keep from coming on the spot as Bruce stroked him up and down, root to tip, slow and sensual. 

"Oh fuck," Peter moaned, his hips stuttering into Bruce's hot grip. "Oh my _God_."

"There is plenty we can do without going all the way," Bruce said, swirling his thumb over Peter's head. The pads of his fingers were rough, and they sparked lightning under Peter's skin.

"No, no, I--" Peter swatted at Bruce's wrist--if he kept that up, the night was going to end much sooner than it should. "I want to do this." He ripped open the condom wrapper.

Bruce took the condom and helped him put it on, smoothing the latex over his straining flesh. Peter grumbled unintelligibly, wishing they could skip the formality even though he knew better. But then Bruce squirted some of the lubricant into his palm, and he told himself that he was very happy doing everything Bruce's way. The gel was cool at first, sending shivers all through him, but Bruce's hand spreading it over his cock warmed everything up.

Bruce slipped out of his boxers and tossed them aside. It wasn't the first time Peter had seen him exposed but he stared anyway. He thought of all the videos he'd seen, the fantasies he'd indulged in, and wondered what it would be like to have something so thick easing inside him. It made him squirm on the bed. 

Bruce crawled over him. Another lingering kiss sealed their confidence, and then Bruce leaned back, urging Peter to shove the pillow under his shoulders. "Slowly," he said as he straddled Peter's hips. "For my sake, too. All right?"

"All right." Peter clenched his hands around Bruce's thighs as if that would keep them from shaking. "I'm ready."

Bruce lowered himself, using one hand to guide Peter's cock inside him. It wasn't like how Peter had expected. Even with the lube the clench of muscle around the head of his cock was so tight he saw stars, and he almost tried to stop Bruce, thinking there was no way any more would fit. With every inch Bruce took Peter trembled a little more, until he was fully enveloped and light-headed.

"Holy shit," he gasped, the muscles along his abdomen locking with restraint. He groped along Bruce's thighs as if in apology. "You're so tight."

Bruce let out a rumble of breath that might have been laughter. "Feels good?"

"Yeah..." Peter tingled all over and tried to buck. His cock was throbbing and he need to _move_ , to feel more of Bruce, to be deeper and tighter still. "Yes, _fuck_ , it feels good."

Bruce shifted his knees wider and lifted himself up, until just Peter's head was still inside him. When he came down again it was faster, swallowing Peter again in slick, wet heat. Peter didn't try to quiet his moans of startled pleasure. He wanted Bruce to hear him, to know how new and exciting his body suddenly felt to him. But even that was nothing compared to when Bruce began to ride him in earnest. His hands latched onto Bruce's hips and he watched, mesmerized, as his cock disappeared again and again into his partner. He'd never felt such frantic bliss.

"Faster," said Peter, planting his heels in the mattress. He tried to speed Bruce up himself but he didn't have the leverage.

Bruce definitely laughed that time. He stared down at Peter with sweat on his face, his eyes bright and full of fondness. He looked amazing, and in those moments nothing in the world mattered more than his flashing smile. "Okay, hold on."

He shifted position again and sped up, but it wasn't enough. Peter groaned in frustration, still trying to set his own pace, but his belly was full of thunder and he was barely in control of his limbs. "Bruce, _come on_ ," he moaned. The pressure building in his hips was driving him crazy. "Please--I can't--"

Bruce huffed something, and finally climbed off Peter entirely. Peter's cock almost stung in the suddenly chill, empty air, and he jolted upright. "Hey, wait--"

"Come on," said Bruce as he stretched out onto his back. The image of him spreading his legs for Peter was surreal. "Come on, Peter."

Peter rushed to comply. He wriggled between Bruce's parted thighs, and with only a moment spared to make sure they were lined up properly, he sank into Bruce all over again. He hadn't thought it was possible to experience lust greater than he was already, but when Bruce quivered, willing and eager beneath the pumping of Peter's hips, it was ecstasy. All the control was his and he took it with every thrust of his body. He had been made for this. Bruce belonged to him. He was senseless and in love and he couldn't stop, pleasure giving way to desperation as he shoved his cock in deep and felt Bruce clench all around him.

It was his own name spilling from Bruce's lips that put him over the edge. He couldn't believe that someone so wonderful would want him so much, and it broke down the dam in him, until he was shuddering with orgasmic release. For minutes afterward he panted against Bruce's chest as every muscle and bone wound down from the high. Bruce held him the whole time, caressing his sweat-slick skin and pressing little kisses to his temples and cheeks. When Peter had finally regained enough of his senses to return a proper kiss, it was perfect. _Bruce_ was perfect.

"Oh my God," Peter mumbled as he slowly collapsed into Bruce's arms. "That was... _awesome_."

Bruce chuckled and started to say something, but then Peter was kissing him again. He couldn't _stop_ kissing him--he wanted to taste every patch of his now lover, wanted to wrap around and through him and never let go. He couldn't stop.

"Shh." Bruce finally urged Peter to relax, though it took his hand over Peter's mouth to do it. "Calm down, Peter. I'm not going anywhere."

"Good." Peter slumped onto his side. "Wow, I'm tired."

"Then rest," said Bruce. He kissed Peter's cheek and then sat up. "I'm going to clean up. I'll be right back." He reached down, and Peter hissed quietly as he slipped the condom off. "If you don't mind."

"Be my guest," Peter said lazily.

Bruce disappeared into the bathroom, and while he was gone Peter dozed, half conscious of the running water. His skin prickled with newness and he let his fingers dance over it in idle exploration. He felt...full, as odd as it seemed. He was exhausted and remade and he wanted Bruce back in bed with him.

When Bruce did come back, he stripped the top blanket out from under Peter and drew fresh sheets over them both. "Sleep for an hour," he suggested as they curled up together.

Peter went back to kissing Bruce's collar. "Can't I just spend the night?"

"If you want." Bruce drew his fingernails up and down Peter's spine. "You're always welcome here, Peter."

Peter's eyes stung, and he was glad that Bruce wouldn't be able to see from his angle. "Thanks," he said, hoping Bruce wouldn't hear the sudden hoarseness in his voice. "Good night, Bruce."

"Good night, Peter," he replied, and as Peter fell asleep he felt Bruce press a kiss to the top of his head.


	8. Chapter 8

Bruce awoke to a series of quick clicks and a flash of light.

"Sorry," said Peter even before Bruce could rub the sleep out of his eyes.  "Sorry; it did that by itself."

Bruce blinked himself awake.  He couldn't remember how long it had been since he'd come out of such a deep, restful sleep.  He didn't want to move for fear of disolving the sensation of lazy peace.  Peter was sitting up next to him, hip to hip, his new camera cradled in his hands.

"You were taking pictures of me," Bruce accused sleepily.

Peter's cheeks turned pink, and he shrugged.  "You just looked so...good."  His smile still put a happy flutter in Bruce's stomach.  "I like seeing you relaxed."

Bruce reached down, feathering the backs of his knuckles across Peter's bare stomach.  Caution pulsed at the back of his mind, but he squashed it; there was plenty of time to dwell on whether he had made a mistake.  Right then, all he cared about was Peter's warm skin and bright brown eyes filled with affection.  "I like seeing _you_ ," he said.

Peter set the camera on the bedside table and then leaned down, pressing to Bruce's tired lips a long, sweet kiss.  "I don't know if I told you this," he said, touching Bruce's face and neck.  "But last night was... _amazing._ "

Bruce chuckled.  "You told me."

Peter crawled on top of him.  "What about you?" he asked eagerly.  He nibbled at Bruce's growing stubble, squirming and full of energy.  "Was it good?"

"Mm, yes."  And it had been, in its own way.  Bruce knew that once he was up and moving there would be soreness to consider--Peter had been just as vigorous as he'd anticipated--but he was proud of himself for maintaining control of his baser instincts. Peter had gotten everything he needed out of his first time and that was what mattered to Bruce most.  "You were wonderful," he said, stroking Peter's ribs.  "You lasted longer than I thought you would."

Peter laughed, but it was clear from his heavy kiss that he was pleased with the compliment.  "Well," he murmured against Bruce's mouth, "practice makes perfect."

The sheets hissed as the two of them twisted together, warm and liquid-like in the early morning haze.  The slower pace gave them more chances to explore each other without so much urgency in the way.  Bruce let his fingers wander over Peter's sloping shoulders, let them dance down the sturdy curve of Peter's long spine.  He savored the line of each rib and muscle.  Peter was still young but he had come into his body in a remarkable way, with so much tone and precision.  Bruce was almost ashamed of how much he loved the softness of his youthful skin, the way it shivered beneath every touch.  When he clenched his fingers adoringly around Peter's tight, round ass, Peter moaned softly under his breath.  It made Bruce want to teach him everything there was to know about pleasure.

"Bruce," Peter whispered, but he didn't make it any further than that.  He pulled himself higher up Bruce's body, allowing him a better grip.  When Bruce squeezed again, Peter arched his back, and Bruce could feel the press of a growing erection against his stomach.  "Bruce..."

Bruce's name in Peter's strained voice was dangerous; it rattled the cage of Bruce's chest and loosened all those controls he set for himself.  It made him angry that he had ever waited for this. 

Bruce rolled them over, and Peter melted beneath him, so awed and receptive.  He shuddered with excitement when Peter wrapped his thighs around his hips.  It would have been so easy.  His heart thudded into his ears as he imagined thrusting into Peter's strong body, claiming and changing him.  Finally he could have something that was his.  He could have something no one could take from him.  He kissed Peter hard and messy and ached with desire.

"Come on," Peter breathed.  He took fistfuls of Bruce's hair and sucked at his lips.  "I'm ready."

Bruce shuddered.  Sweat beaded on his skin and made him feel glossy, translucent.  A warning.  He hated himself for it.  He thought about how fragile he was, and how he didn't deserve a brilliant, handsome young lover like Peter Parker.  He was weak, and it was his fault, and he was _angry_ \--

Bruce pulled Peter's hands off him and sat upright, leaning on his heels.  He took long gulps of air to calm his heaving chest and fluttering heart.  But when he looked down and saw Peter staring at him, so aroused and uncertain at once, he couldn't bring himself to leave completely as he should have done.  Instead he spat into his already sweaty palm and wrapped his hand around Peter's cock.

Peter's hips bucked involuntarily.  He looked like he was trying to speak, but Bruce's rough fingers running up and down his flushed length stole his breath.  He was so beautiful.  Bruce watched the muscles of his abdomen clench with every pump, as if his entire body were attuned to the slow, squeezing pleasure Bruce was bestowing.  His eyelashes fluttered and his chin tipped forward as he tried to watch.

Bruce licked his lips.  His own erection was pressed up against Peter's tailbone, granting him only slight friction of skin every time Peter arched into his hand.  It took an inhuman effort not to pin Peter's hips down and simply take him.  He distracted himself with stroking Peter's thighs and stomach, encouraging him to fuck his closed fist.  Peter caught on in no time, and as he moaned in excitement he found and clasped Bruce's free hand, gripping it as if needing support.  Bruce held him just as tightly.

Peter's head fell back as he came, his voice hoarse and half-laughing.  Bruce continued to stroke until Peter was entirely spent and panting on the sheets.  His skin prickled with heat, but watching Peter come down from the high, satiated and peaceful, helped to calm him.  He squeezed Peter's hand in time with his own heartbeat until he was certain it had slowed.

Peter wiped the sweat from his face.  "Wow," he mumbled.  After a few more moments of catching his breath, his brow furrowed.  "But I thought you... don't you want to...?"  He nudged Bruce with his knees.

Bruce scraped the back of his wrist across his mouth.  "I don't think I trust myself enough for that right now," he admitted.

Peter frowned at him.  It took him a while to understand, but when he did, his eyes widened.  He must have seen that Bruce was still flushed and sweating, his breath still carefully measured.  Still, he sat up.  He touched Bruce's chest tentatively and ask, "Are you okay?"

Bruce grimaced, but he took Peter's hands and squeezed.  "Yeah.  I'll be fine."

Peter leaned forward, pressing their cheeks together.  "I'm just so irresistible, huh?" he teased.

"Yeah," said Bruce with a quiet chuckle.  "I can't help myself when I'm with you."

They both laughed, but the humor diminished quickly.  Peter stayed close, and though he was uncertain, his efforts at comfort meant everything.  Bruce finally eased him back and kissed him.  "I think I'm going to take a cold shower," he said.  He smiled as they untangled themselves.  "Just relax for a while longer."

"Okay."  Peter leaned back on his hands and watched Bruce climb out of bed.  "You're really okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine.  Really."  Bruce shot him one last reassuring look and then slipped into the bathroom.

The water helped.  Bruce let the cold wash over him, taking with it sweat and excitement.  It left shame in their place.  He couldn't stop thinking of Steve, of all things, gripping his wrist as he fought back his fearful transformation.  He made it look so easy, and it made Bruce ache.  No one had to worry about what kind of man Steve Rogers was, deep down.

When Bruce was finished, Peter took a turn, and he moved into the kitchen to start some coffee.  He didn't have much food to offer, but Peter insisted he was fine with an orange.  They sat at the kitchen table, sharing awkward glances.

"So," said Peter.  "You're going to have to help teach me."

Bruce's eyebrow's perked.  "Teach you what?"

Peter sucked on an orange slice.  "How to get you off in a relaxed manner."

Bruce let out a breath of laughter that he tried to drown in his coffee.  "Well.  Um."  He couldn't explain how unexpectedly touching the offer was, and he blushed.  "There are some things we could try."

Peter smiled over the lip of his mug.  He looked very pleased with himself, and for some reason, they both started laughing.

They kissed goodbye at the elevator.  "I told Aunt May I'd spend some time with her today, but I want to come by tonight," said Peter.  He fingered the collar of Bruce's shirt.  "To see you."

"I'll be here."  Bruce touched Peter's cheek.  "Just because we went through with it doesn't mean anything's different," he said.  "You're always welcome.  But we still have to be careful."

"I know."  Peter scuffed his shoe against the floor.  "Let's just hope Captain Rogers didn't hear us downstairs, huh?"

Bruce huffed.  "Stark Industries knows a thing or two about sound-proofing, believe me."

They shared one more kiss, and then Peter left, grinning as the elevator doors closed behind him.  Bruce let out a long sigh.  He returned to the kitchen to drink the rest of the coffee, telling himself not to think too much.  Whether he had made a mistake with Peter, it was too late to worry about it; it was done, and he was responsible for whatever came next. 

Peter deserved better.

Bruce turned on the television hoping for a distraction, but everyone was talking about Tony again, and the latest internet rumors being spread around various social networking circles.  Hammer's photos might have been fakes but they had stirred to life a thousand petty grievances from Tony's old detractors, and Bruce found himself grimacing along.  A Twitter feed scrolled across the bottom of the screen as the anchors carried on about harassment and patent violations, and one particular comment caught Bruce's attention.

 _this is so dumb_ , it read.  _who even cares anymore?  #sickofstark._

Bruce scrounged up the remote and called up Twitter.  The #sickofstark tag was already picking up momentum.  _He's doing it himself to stay relevant_ , another Tweet read.  _Even I can photoshop better than that_ , said another.  No one seemed to believe any of the rumors but they circulated them anyway.  It was becoming a vicious circle of negative press, and it made Bruce's blood boil.

"What are you doing, Hammer?" he grumbled as he shut everything off and then drained his mug.  "They're even more sick of you than they are Tony.  What do you think you can gain?"

Steve had been right--it had to be part of a larger plan.  But Bruce couldn't see it, and it made him restless.  He headed down to Tony's workshop, hoping that there was a project to be worked on that would occupy his mind.

***

Peter rode the subway back home.  He wished he could have swung--he was so full of energy he thought he could have flown--but in broad daylight on a Saturday it didn't seem like a good idea.  He sent Aunt May a text on the way, saying that he would be home soon, and got "Okay" as a response.  He wasn't sure how to interpret it.

"Aunt May?"  He slipped through the front door and spotted Aunt May in the kitchen, eating a raisin muffin.  She raised her eyebrows at him, and he shrugged helplessly.  "Sorry," he said on reflex.  "I didn't really mean to stay out all night, I just..."

"I'm getting used to it," said May.  She nodded toward the refrigerator.  "There's another muffin, if you want."

"Thanks."  Peter dropped his things on the table and headed for the fridge.  He felt as if he was vibrating in his skin and wondered if Aunt May could tell, if she could see through to how different he was, like she always did.

He was buttering the muffin at the counter, still wondering, when May said, "What's this?" and his heart skipped.

She had pulled the camera case closer to her and was inspecting the straps.  "It's beautiful," she said, tracing the line of the leather.  She flicked hesitantly at the fastening.

Peter stared.  He had been so proud of his new gift he hadn't had it in him to shove it into his crummy old backpack.  Time seemed to halt as May glanced up at him, expecting an explanation.  He swallowed.  "You can open it," he heard himself say.

She did so, and Peter had to imagine that his face had looked pretty much the same as hers did then: slack with shock as she lifted the handsomely made camera out of its case.  "My goodness, Peter," she said, handling it as it were made of tissue.  "This is incredible."  She set it on the table and leaned back.  "And...expensive-looking.  How did you get this?"

"I, um."  Peter leaned against the counter.  He flashed through several viable lies, but each made him sick to his stomach.  He thought of one of Uncle Ben's lectures when he was eleven, of the "if you want to be treated like an adult, act like one," variety, and with a deep breath he squared his shoulders and said, "It was a birthday present."  His hands shook, so he clenched them against the counter.  "From my boyfriend."

Aunt May straightened in her chair.  Her eyes went wide, and Peter tried not to shrink beneath them.  He knew she would understand.  She had already known and accepted him in her own way, but for some reason he trembled on the verge of panic all the same.  But then May smiled.  Emotion made her wide eyes glossy and she nodded.

"What's his name?" she asked.

Tears welled in Peter's eyes and he didn't know why.  He tried to wipe them away.  "Um, it's Bruce."  He smiled, wanting to be relieved, but there was so much more and it was bubbling up inside him.  He'd started something he might not be able to stop.  "His name is Bruce."

"So, not Captain Steve after all?" teased May.

Peter chuckled weakly.  "No, not him.  Not that he's not...but you know."  He shifted awkwardly and licked his lips.  "He lives in Stark Tower.  It's kind of weird.  Well, not really.  I mean, he works there."  He shrugged and tried to shut up.

May just kept smiling at him, patient and happy, as if she had been waiting a long time to hear it.  "And that's where you were last night?"

"Yeah."  Peter took in a deep breath.  "Uh, I did go out with Jonah and...and everyone.  But yeah, I spent the...yeah."  His face burned.  "With Bruce."

"Peter, it's okay," said May.  "I turned eighteen once, you know."  She fixed him with a serious look.  "You used protection?"

Peter heaved a sigh, and it helped loosen some of the tension.  "Of course."

"Good."  May looked at the camera again and then pulled it to her.  "I bet his picture's in here."

Peter stiffened and couldn't move as May turned the camera on and toyed with the buttons.  "If my boyfriend bought me a camera, you can bet the first thing I would take a picture of would be him," she said.  Peter stared, his heart in his ears, helpless.

She figured out how to cycle the taken pictures: a few that Peter had taken on the way home, just getting used to the settings and learning the limits of its internal AI.  Then all the motherly humor left her face.  Peter began to sweat.  She looked up and the kitchen seemed to close in around them, an inescapable prison.

"Peter," Aunt May said quietly.

"He's..."  Peter had to fight to get his breath past his closed throat.  "He's forty, I think."

May's eyelids fluttered with disbelief, and a battle of shock and outrage played out in the lines around her mouth.  She shook her head and started to take a breath, and Peter tensed on the urge of flight, but then she stopped herself.  She put the camera down.

"It's not like that," Peter said involuntarily, folding his arms.  "He's not...I know what I'm doing."

May rubbed her face with both hands, but she was still speechless, and as the silence dragged on Peter couldn't help but try to fill it.  "I know what it looks like, but it's...it's fine," he babbled.  "He's so smart, and so...he's so good, and..."  There were tears in May's eyes.  "And he's an Avenger, like Mr. Stark.  Like Captain Rogers."

"An Avenger," May repeated.

"Yeah, you know.  A superhero."  Peter gulped.  "The big one."

"The big one?"

"The green one."

Aunt May puffed up all over again.  "The _green_ one?"

Peter shrank into his shoulders.  "He's not like that all the time."  He gestured to the camera.  "You saw him."

May leaned back in her chair, gaping at Peter as if he had lost his mind.  Slowly, her disbelief and anger dipped into something much harder to read that made Peter shift uncomfortably.  She rubbed her eyes and shook her head and finally looked away, her hand over her mouth.

Peter tried to gulp down his own bitter emotions without success.  "I'm..."  He couldn't make himself apologize.  "What?" he said instead.  "What is it?"

"Peter," said May, wincing.

"What?  It's not like he's taking advantage of me.  I know what I'm doing."  Peter shrugged jerkily.  "Are you going to try to tell me I can't see him?"

Aunt May let out a breath in exasperation.  "Peter, I can't even tell you to stop being Spider-Man," she blurted out.  "How can I tell you who you can or can't sleep with?"

The air rushed out of the room.  Peter froze--he could barely breathe.  Even Aunt May looked surprised that she had said it.  They stared speechless at each other for almost a full minute before Peter finally cleared his throat.  "You want me to stop?"

Aunt May wiped her eyes, but after trying several times to speak, she finally got out of her chair.  She wrapped Peter up in her arms and he couldn't help but reciprocate.  His head swam dizzily as months of secrecy and doubt began to slough off.  Even after telling himself so many times that it was inevitable, he had never really believed the truth would come out.

"I know why you do it," said Aunt May, and his strength began to crumble.  "I do, Peter.  But what happened to Ben wasn't your fault."

Peter shuddered and hid his face against her shoulder.  "I'm helping people, Aunt May.  They need me."

May was quiet for another long moment. "I know," she said.  She sounded like she was crying.  "I don't want you to stop."

"I'm sorry," Peter whispered, trying to sink deeper into her arms.  "I'm sorry."

"Shh, I know.  It's all right."  She stroked his hair just like when he was a little boy.  "I'm proud of you, Peter."

They stayed that way for what felt like a long time, leaning on each other.  When Aunt May finally eased up she kissed Peter's forehead and prodded him into a chair at the table.  "So," she said, sprinkling a little cinnamon sugar on the muffin Peter had been prepping.  "You're friends with the superheroes, now.  At least I can feel good about that."

Peter folded his arms on the table and leaned into them.  He had no idea what to say.  "Yeah.  They're really amazing.  The ones I've met, anyway."

Aunt May put the muffin on a plate and slid it in front of him.  "And...Bruce."

Peter pinched off a corner of the muffin and gulped it down, even though his stomach was still mostly in knots.  "I know it's, like...weird.  But it's not weird like _that_ , I mean, he didn't even _know_ how young I was at first.  It's not some kind of To Catch a Predator thing."

Aunt May sank back into her seat.  "He is a grown man."

"So am I," Peter said immediately, but then Aunt May's expression made him grimace.  "I'm eighteen...?"

"I think I need some time on this," she said.

Peter nibbled at another piece of muffin.  "More so than me being Spider-Man?"

"In fact, yes, I do."  She took a good look at him and then sighed.  "Oh Peter."  She smiled weakly.  "What are we going to do?"

"I...dunno."  Peter lost interest in actually eating the muffin, but he continued to pull chunks off of it.  "It's pretty bad out there right now.  That asshole on the news, the one that's been after Mr. Stark?  He's waging some kind of anti-hero campaign."  He gulped. "I know you were watching the news that night...when Captain Rogers came over."

Aunt May nodded vaguely.  She fought a silent battle with herself and then said, "Will you tell me what happened?"

"Yeah."  Peter sat up, again hearing Uncle Ben's voice ringing in his ears.  "I'll tell you everything."

And he did.  He started with hunting down Dr. Connors, the spider in the lab, the super powers.  She held his hand when he told her about the guy in the party store.  He told her about Captain Stacey, and trying to help The Avengers fight aliens, and meeting Bruce in the tower for the first time.  He skipped a few things in the middle, eventually leading up to Hammer and Connors and the terrible mystery Bruce had laid at his feet the night before.

"My dad never said anything about me like that, did he?" Peter asked once the truth was out.  "I'm not some kind of test tube baby, am I?"

Aunt May squeezed his hand.  She had taken everything in like a champ but he could almost see her head spinning.  "Oh Peter, I don't know," she said.  "He never opened up much.  Not to me, anyway."  She smiled with nostalgia.  "But he was so proud to have you.  He and Mary tried for a long time to get pregnant."

Peter frowned.  "Really?"

"And it wasn't an easy pregnancy," May went on.  "Your mother spent a lot of it on bed rest.  I went over to help out, when I could.  But she never shared the details with me."  She hesitated.  "I think she did worry a lot, towards the end.  Your father, too."

"Huh."  By then the muffin was a pile of crumbles, and Peter finally went back to eating it.  "I never heard that."

"It's not something that comes up often.  I'm sorry I'm not more helpful."

"No, it's fine.  Thank you."  Peter smirked.  "I'm getting used to mysteries."

"Well so am I, but that doesn't mean we need to have so many secrets now."  Aunt May pushed to her feet and then leaned down, kissing the top of Peter's head.  "You don't have to tell me everything," she said seriously.  "But don't ever forget that I'm here, if you need me.  I just need _you_ to keep me updated, understand?  I need to know you're all right."

"I know."  Peter watched her take her plate to the dishwasher.  "I'm sorry I made you worry, especially the other night."  He gulped down another mouthful of muffin.  "Maybe I should make a Spider-Twitter, just to keep everyone updated on my 'not dead' status."

"Peter Parker," May said crossly, "if you think I am getting a Twitter on top of everything else, you are sorely mistaken."  She closed the dishwasher.  "I am your _aunt_.  The least you can do is send me a personal text."

"Okay, okay," said Peter.  "I will."  He stood.  "I'm gonna change.  Then maybe we can...go somewhere?  It's Saturday, your day off, right?  We should do something."

"We could go to Central Park," she suggested.  "There'll be plenty for you to try your new camera out on."

Peter perked with interest.  "Sounds good."  He stole one last bite of muffin crumb and then paused, shuffling his feet.  "Aunt May?  About Bruce..."

Aunt May shook her head.  "I said I need a little time on that one," she said, but when Peter's shoulders fell, she added, "It's not that I don't believe you, Peter.  I'm sure he seems wonderful."

"He _is_."

"And I'm not going to tell you not to see him.  But this is a lot to take in at once, you know!"

"I know--sorry."  Peter knew that she was doing the best she could in the situation he'd given her, and he appreciated it.  He kissed her cheek.  "But thanks for being so cool, Aunt May.  Really."

"Go get changed," said Aunt May.

Peter dashed up the stairs, anxious and relieved and head whirling.  And the day had only just started.

***

Bruce spent the day in Tony's lab.  For some of it they worked together, talking over ideas on how to make the Iron Man armor even less susceptible to temperature changes.  Some of it Bruce spent hunched over the computer, increasing his knowledge of various genetic manipulation techniques.  He succeeded in keeping his mind very busy, analyzing the mystery of Peter's DNA from as objective a perspective as possible.  Sometimes he even forgot about that morning and the night before.  Then he remembered, and he felt like he was fifteen again.

"You're awful jumpy today," Tony remarked as they ate lunch the science way, heating leftover Chinese in the chest plate of one of Tony's out-of-service suits.  "And you were in your room all day yesterday."

Bruce poked at a piece of General Tso's chicken.  He wasn't sure how much he was willing to admit until he said, "I found out something about how the spider venom affected Steve's transformation."

Tony rested his chin on his hand, watching him.  "And?"

Bruce swallowed, but then he reminded himself that there wasn't anyone he could share his concerns and theories with if not Tony.  "When I first came on to the serum project, General Ross tried to hide from me what we were really doing," he said.  "But obviously, I'm not an idiot."

"I've noticed," said Tony.

"I read as much of the old research as I could, including Dr. Erskine's original brief.  In it he outlined the importance of selecting a suitable candidate.  He predicted that the serum would react to even slight variations in the genetic code between subjects.  He never explained exactly what factors he was looking for.  But he warned that an improper subject could lead to disastrous results."

"Stop," said Tony.  He turned the heat down on the chest plate and poured duck sauce into a nearby petri dish.  "I know where you're going."

"Steve was able to halt his transformation mid-process within thirty hours of exposure," Bruce pressed on anyway.  "Yes, the radiation wasn't that significant, but--"

"Bruce.  Shut up."  Tony stabbed his fork into the lo mein and twisted.  "You are a success," he said.  "Someday you're going to believe me."

"Yeah, someday," said Bruce.  It sure was a nice thought.

It wasn't until the evening that they were interrupted again; they were discussing ideas for science-dinner when JARVIS announced, "Incoming call for Dr. Banner, from Mr. Peter Parker."

Bruce blushed.  Tony put a finger in his ear and sang, "La la la.  La la la-la."

"Put him through," said Bruce, and then as soon as he heard the call connect, "Hello, Peter.  Tony says hi."

"Parent over shoulder," Tony said under his breath.

"Oh, um, hey, Mr. Stark," said Peter.  A smile crept into his voice.  "Hi, Bruce."

"Are you on your rounds already?"

"On my way.  I've got an image to maintain, you know."  Peter chuckled.  "But um, I wanted to stop by first, if you don't mind.  My aunt got me a new phone for my birthday, and while I was trying to do a few mods to it...I think I kind of bricked it."

Tony rolled his eyes in dramatic fashion.  "He's not welcome here."

"Bring it on over," said Bruce.  "We'll take a look at it."

"Okay, great.  I'll see you soon."  It was so easy to imagine that mischievous smirk of his.  "Bye, Bruce."

"Swing safely, Peter."

They hung up, and Bruce tried not to look at Tony.  It didn't work; he glanced up and caught Tony eyeing him.  "What?"

"Nothing," said Tony.  "It's none of my business."

They moved up to the penthouse, and were still talking experimental cuisine when Pepper rushed in from the direction of her office.  "Tony," she said urgently.  "Tony, it's him again."

Tony threw himself onto the sofa.  "I don't want to hear it anymore."

"You need to see this."  Pepper leaned over the side table and pressed a few buttons, calling up on the television a series of technical schematics.  They were obviously of the Iron Man armor, though not a model Bruce recognized, and the notes in the margins didn't look like Tony's handwriting.

Tony stared for a moment, but then his eye caught something Bruce hadn't yet, as the color drained from his face and he shifted to the edge of the sofa.  His fingers flew over the controls on the side table until the armor's left arm filled the screen, along with a series of armaments listed on the side that were meant to be fired from the forearm launcher.

Bruce put his glasses on, and needed only a moment to understand the various markings and technical descriptions.  His ribs tightened.  "Are those nuclear?"

"They're too small to be nukes," said Tony, but another window opened in the corner of the screen as JARVIS took in the information from the schematic and began analyzing.  "You can't pack enough fissile material into a missile that size to achieve critical mass."

"Sir," said JARVIS.  "You have an incoming call from Director Fury."

"You say that like you've tried it," said Bruce.  "That looks like one of yours."

"It is, except for that part."  Tony turned to Pepper.  "Where did you get these?"

Pepper shook her head helplessly.  "Tony, they're all over the internet."

"Sir," said JARVIS again.

"All right; put him on."

Another window opened showing Director Fury's displeased face.  "Stark," he said immediately, "tell me I'm not looking at what I think I'm looking at."

"Now's not the time to be busting my balls over bad photoshop, Nicky."

"We both know that's not what this is."

Bruce took a step back as the two of them argued over the specs.  He didn't know much about missiles but he knew plenty about uranium, and as he scanned the notes they started to come together in a way that very nearly made sense.  Tony was right--the missiles were too small.  But there was an idea there, something that could have been tweaked and molded into a nuclear armed Iron Man.

More phone calls started to roll in.  Tony only answered Rhodes, from which Bruce gathered that the suit in question was actually War Machine.  Bruce stepped back and found Pepper beside him.  They exchanged worried looks.

"What's really going on?" Bruce asked.

"A journalist friend of mine tipped me off," said Pepper.  "Those specs were leaked on the web thirty minutes ago, and they're already everywhere."  She shook with frustration.  "It's him again, it _has_ to be him.  Everyone has to see that."

"No," said Bruce.  "This is different."

He was proved right when Fury abruptly said, "Turn on Fox news."

"--with Phillip Barnett," the anchor was saying, "a former employee of Hammer Industries.  He agreed to speak to us regarding this recently released information."  The camera swung to include a middle-aged blonde man in glasses.  Tony muttered something under his breath.

"Friend of yours?" said Bruce while the anchor exchanged pleasantries with his guest.

Tony shook his head.  "He's actually legit."

"It wasn't me that released these blueprints," Barnett was saying.  "But they are my work.  I felt compelled to step forward."

" _You_ designed this suit?" asked the anchor, and Tony looked about to blow.

"No, of course not.  I merely analyzed and recorded the specifications of the suit that Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes delivered to us."

"Tony," said Rhodes, "if your adolescent rivalry with Hammer lands me in a court martial I swear to God--"

"You're saying that the suit branded War Machine was already equipped with a nuclear device when it arrived in your hands?"

"We were meant to outfit it with artillery for the demonstration at Stark's Expo," Barnett explained.  "Of course Mr. Hammer asked us to pick the thing apart while we were at it.  What kind of waste would it be if we didn't?  But when we realized what it was carrying, Mr. Hammer had us dismantle its active missile systems."

"Stark," said Fury, but Tony interrupted him with, "No, a hundred times, _no_."

"Why didn't you report it?" the anchor continued.

"How could we?  A payload like that?  No one would have believed we didn't add it ourselves.  Which is why these specs were never meant to see daylight."  Barnett shook his head.  "I can only imagine someone at Oscorp acquired them through the takeover, and decided to release them to go with the negative press already being thrown around."

"Oscorp," muttered Steve, and Bruce jumped.  He hadn't even noticed his arrival.  "Are they really involved in all of this, too?"

"Everything he's saying is bullshit," Tony snapped.  "JARVIS, shut this crap off."  He pushed to his feet.  "I've had enough of Hammer's games and I'm going to put an end to it."

 "You sound like you're about to do something stupid," said Fury, at the same time that Rhodes said, "Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't."

By then Tony was already heading for the balcony.  Everyone followed.  "Tony," said Pepper, "we will fight him, but not like this.  What are you going to do?  Just go over there and shoot him?"

"Do you even know where he is?" asked Steve.

"He owns a condo on the Upper East Side," said Tony as he headed for the Iron Man assembly.  "JARVIS was able to trace some of his Tweets back there."  He made a sound of disgust.  "I can't believe he made me say the word 'Tweets.'"

Bruce hung back.  Everyone was agitated and he had no intention of getting into the middle of it, especially when Tony had already made up his mind.  He looked out over the evening skyline, simultaneously wishing that Peter wasn't coming and that he was there already.  He rubbed his eyes, and when he looked again, he noticed a reflection of light coming from the roof of the nearby Bank of America building.  "Hey, Tony."

"Tony, please," Pepper carried on.  "This is exactly what he wants."

"I don't care!"  Tony stepped into the assembly, and piece by piece the armor was fit to his body.  "Enough is enough.  After everything we've been through, he thinks he can wear me down with this PR Nightmare bullshit?  He wanted a war and now he's got one."  The mask clanged down.  "But don't worry; I'm not going to shoot him.  We're just going to...talk.  Like gentlemen."

The engines ignited, and Steve and Pepper stepped back as he took off.  As soon as he cleared the pad, Bruce saw another flash of light from the opposite rooftop.  Tony's armor dropped out of view, but almost before Bruce could register concern it was back, awkwardly shifting course.  It rocketed away toward the Upper East Side.

Bruce was about to ask if anyone else had noticed his strange flight path when JARVIS interrupted them on the com.  "Ms. Potts," he said with uncharacteristic urgency.  "I have detected--"

The intercom crackled, and JARVIS' voice dissolved into static.  As the three of them turned back toward the penthouse, all the interior screens went black.  Fury and Rhodes were disconnected, and after several seconds of nothing, their call screens were replaced with a digital timer in huge, red letters reading SECURITY BREACH 00:01:00:00.

They stared at the screen in shock.  "What's going on?" asked Steve, and just as he finished speaking, the numbers began to count down.

Panic swelled up the back of Bruce's throat.  Sixty seconds.  He felt as if the room was spinning, but he still managed to run to the side table controls.  Nothing he pressed did anything to halt the countdown.  "JARVIS?" he shouted, but when the only response was static, he resorted to grabbing Pepper by the arm.  "Pepper, where's the system's manual shut down?"

Pepper's eyes were locked on the whirling red numbers, and she shook in Bruce's grip.  He took her other arm.  "Pepper, _hurry_ ," he tried again.  "Doesn't the system have a manual shut down?"

"It's...yes, it's downstairs."  She looked almost faint.  "In the lab."

"That's six floors down," Bruce said as they rushed to the emergency stairwell.  "I don't know if we--"

Steve threw the door open and didn't wait for them.  "What am I looking for?"

"There's a hatch in the floor by the northeast wall of the lab," Pepper called.  She kicked her shoes off as she and Bruce bounded down the stairs after him.  "The largest of the levers should shut down the central nervous system of the entire tower, but the whole thing will be locked!"

Steve took the stairs several at a time and quickly disappeared.  As Bruce chased after him he tried to control his breathing, but his heart was already in his throat and he had started to sweat.  He wasn't afraid for himself, but he could hear Pepper behind him, gasping in fright.  He thought of Peter on his way to the tower with no way of knowing what was happening.  Even if it was another of Hammer's stupid pranks, if the Hulk decided he had had enough Ross' war might already have been over.

Bruce and Pepper stumbled out of the stairwell, through a mangled security door and into the lab.  Every screen was taken up by the countdown, washing the whole lab in red light.  Steve had found the hatch and was prying the locks open with the chest piece Tony and Bruce had used to heat their lunch.  As soon as he was able to get his fingers under, he pulled, the metal squealing in complaint.

"Twelve seconds," Bruce said as the hatch finally swung open.

Steve dropped into the chamber below.  Bruce could hear him moving about, followed by straining metal, but the clock continued to count down.  There wasn't time.  As the numbers got closer to zero Bruce grabbed Pepper and pushed her up against one of the support beams, shielding her with his body.  If it was a bomb they had to prepare for, the Hulk could protect her, he thought.  At least, he hoped it would.  He tensed, waiting for a roar of thunder and a rush of heat.  When the timer reached three seconds left, all the lights went out.

Pepper shrieked close to Bruce's ear, and he still waited, not breathing, but nothing happened.  The red in the room was replaced with soft, orange dusk seeping through the shades.  Bruce looked to the monitors, but every one of them was blank.  He let out a long sigh and thought his knees might give out.  "Steve?"

"Are you all right?" Steve's voice floated out of the chamber.  "Should I still pull it?"

Bruce and Pepper exchanged a look.  "Didn't you already?" Bruce asked.

"No."  Steve poked his head out.  "I didn't have time to break the seal open before the lights went out."

One by one, the monitors began to come back online.  Bruce eased away from Pepper, and Steve joined them in watching, confused, as walls of text began to scroll.  When Bruce leaned over one of the workstations to see, he realized it was a list of subsystems.  "Are you sure?" he asked.  "Because it looks like it worked.  The system is rebooting."

Static issued from the room's intercoms, but it only lasted a moment.  "Good evening, Ms. Potts, Dr. Banner, Captain Rogers," said JARVIS.  "How may I assist you?"

Pepper heaved a sigh of her own, as if she had _still_ been holding it.  "JARVIS.  What the hell just happened?"

"My apologies, Ms. Potts," said JARVIS.  "But I'm afraid I detected a catastrophic breach of system security.  In such a case I am programmed to initiate a full system shutdown and restoration.  It may take some time for all systems to come back online."

"That was _your_ countdown?" Steve said incredulously.

"My apologies, again, if it caused you undue concern," said JARVIS.

Bruce sank into a desk chair.  His heart was still pounding.  "Is the system secure _now_?"

"Yes, Dr. Banner, very much so.  I am already analyzing the data log to determine what caused the breach and how to prevent any such attack in the future."

"What about Tony?" asked Pepper.  "Where is he?  Is he all right?"

"I am attempting to locate Mr. Stark now."

A moment later, a burst of static announced JARVIS' success.  "Tony!" Pepper said immediately.  "What happened?  We were just hacked--are you all right?"

"I'm all right," said Tony, though his voice was oddly distant.

Bruce concentrated on his breathing as Steve asked, "What happened on your end?  Did they get to you, too?"

"Well...the good news is, you all get to say 'I told you so.'"

The closest screen changed to the display recorded by the Iron Man: a view of an apartment building, the windows of the top floor blown out and billowing fire and smoke.  Steve muttered a curse while Pepper clasped both hands over her mouth.  Bruce could only stare.

"I think," said Tony, "I'm in serious trouble."


	9. Chapter 9

"Whooo!" Hammer crowed, bouncing out of his chair as fire and smoke billowed across the television screen. "Did you see that? Did you fucking _see_ that?" He danced up and down the aisles, clapping his mercenaries on their shoulders as they laughed and cheered with him. "We got that son of a bitch! Damn, look at it burn." He wriggled his fingers at the screen. "Come to me, sweet insurance pay off."

Ross and his men stood back, watching the video feed and the celebration surrounding it with wide eyes and jaws slack. The scene made no sense. Hammer's men had turned the Oscorp lab into a soldier's lair, their guns and equipment strewn everywhere, take-out boxes littering the tables. Captain America's shield was propped up on one of the desks like a war trophy. Each computer monitor was lit with technical readouts, but as Hammer made his way from desk to desk, he switched them to live feed from various news sources. Everyone had seen and everyone was talking about how the Iron Man had streaked across town and fired a missile in Justin Hammer's uptown apartment.

One of the men handed Hammer a headset. "Yes!" Hammer said into it. "Yes, it worked, it was _perfect_. So get the hell outta there, all right? Watch your ass. Great work, I could _kiss_ you. With tongue." He hung up and handed the headset back.

"Hammer," said Ross, his fists clenched at his sides.

"God, it's beautiful, isn't it? Any of the networks have footage yet? We should wait a few minutes before uploading ours, don't you think?" He twirled to the next monitor and called up Twitter. "Lighting it up already. What do you suppose the hash tag of choice will be? I'm just going to sit back on this one, see what they come up with."

"Hammer," Ross said again, louder. "How did you do that?"

Hammer flopped into an office chair. "Where is he now? Still at the scene?" He tapped at the computer. "Calvary ought to be there soon. Ooh, it's exciting, isn't it?"

Ross stalked forward and grabbed the back of Hammer's chair, spinning it around. His men were close behind, and they tensed as every one of Hammer's mercenaries turned toward them. Ross ignored them in favor of Hammer. "Tell me how you did that," he said.

Hammer shrugged. "Why?" Before Ross could lose his temper, he continued. "Knowing won't do you any good. His system is already immunizing itself--what we did will never work again. Stark will make sure of that."

Ross scowled. "Then what was the _point_?"

"This!" said Hammer, gesturing to the screens. "Look at them eating it up. They are _loving_ this. So what does he do?" Hammer grinned like the smug asshole he was. "Either he cops to trying to kill me with fire, or he has to admit that the world's most dangerous autonomous weapon was compromised right under his nose. An unstable asshole with the possibility of a nuke, or an incompetent asshole with the possibility of a nuke?" He shook his head. "Poor Pepper Potts is going to have her hands full."

"Those nukes you posted are completely unfeasible," said Ross. "Anyone that knows anything about missiles can see that."

"So what? How do you argue with _that_?" Hammer bounded out of his chair again and faced the main television, basking in it. "Boom, boom," he said, making firework motions with his hands. "Beautiful."

Ross's soldiers exchanged glances that smacked of _Is he for real?_ Ross shook his head. "I thought you called me down here about the serum," he said.

"Oh, yeah." Hammer waved at him, distracted. "That sample you turned in really did the trick. Norman's scientists think they've figured out what made it so unstable, after looking at the Captain. They ran a test serum an hour ago."

Ross stared. "And?"

"And...what?"

"Where is it?"

"With Norman." Hammer finally turned away from the screen. "He's like that, you know. He likes having things right in his own hands."

Ross tried not to let his mounting irritation show, though with Hammer that was always a heavy task. "If the serum is with Osborn why did you need me _here_?"

"Because I wanted you to see this, of course!" Hammer beamed, looking for approval. "You didn't think I could do it, did you? I _beat_ Tony Stark. For thirty seconds, okay, but I _beat_ him. And even if he catches me in the end, it just means everyone will know it that much more. I wanted you to witness _history,_ Thaddeus." He pressed both hands over his heart. "That's how much I care."

Ross hated to admit it, but Hammer was right. He had done it. Tony Stark's reputation would take time to repair, in the wake of the most irritating psychological campaign Ross had ever witnessed. He could only imagine Director Fury's normally impeccable ego fractured by his poster boy falling from grace.

"I've got to hand it to you, Justin," said Ross, sarcasm carefully masked. "You did good. So, now that Stark's taken care of, we can look ahead." He squared his shoulders and faced Hammer with full seriousness. "Where is the chamber?"

The humor left Hammer's face, and he shook his head as he sank into the office chair again. "I'm not done with him."

"You've already humiliated and framed him," said Ross. "You said it yourself--however this plays out, you've won."

Hammer stared back at him with an intensity Ross hadn't seen before. "He's still breathing," he said coldly.

Ross couldn't help but lean back. "You really intend on killing him?"

"Um...yes." His lips twisted in a grin but the hate in his eyes didn't change. "That's pretty much the plan."

"How? You just said you won't be able to compromise the armor again."

"And...?" Hammer rolled his eyes and shared a look with one of his men. "To think a decorated general would need the concept of 'murder' explained to him."

Ross' men bristled, but he gestured for them to stand down. "We had a deal," he said as calmly as he could manage. "We got you out, we got you Stark, just like you asked. Now hand over the chamber."

"No." Hammer turned his chair around. "Not until Stark's dead."

If not for the mercenaries outnumbering his soldiers, Ross wouldn't have stood for it. His gaze swept the room, taking in the various assault weapons, tasers, and flash grenades. As much as it pained him, he knew to pick his battles. "Fair enough," he grumbled. "But if that's the case, don't call me again until you're finished." He signaled to his men and turned to leave. "I don't want us to be seen together."

"Yeah, sure. Tell Norman--oh!" Hammer jumped out of his chair again as footage from a news chopper took over the screen. "Wow, look at that shot! It's still really burning. I hope I didn't leave the gas on." He nudged the closest of his mercenaries. "I'm going to tell my insurance adjuster it was 'an act of God.' He'll get a laugh out of that, don't you think?"

Ross stopped at the elevator and turned back. "Two can play at this game, asshole," he muttered as he pulled out his phone and snapped a quick shot of the room. One of the men turned, but by then Ross was already ducking into the elevator with his soldiers in tow.

"What now?" asked the man at his right as the elevator took them down. "If Osborn has the sample already, does that mean he's tested it?"

"We're about to pay him a visit and find out," said Ross, tapping on his phone. "I've had enough of both of them. If they think they can phase me out of this, they're mistaken."

***

"I'm sorry," said an electronic operator's voice, "but the number you have dialed is no longer in service."

"What is going on?" Peter hung up and tucked his phone away. He looked left, where the Stark Tower stood as a darkened outline in a normally vibrant skyline, and then right, where black smoke was billowing from an apartment fire uptown. Though his first impulse was to get to Bruce as soon as possible, he remembered seeing Iron Man pass over the city when he was still on the bridge. As he tried to decide which direction needed him more, he spotted a sleek, black helicopter heading toward him from the direction of the fire. He ducked into the shadow of an access door and peered up the craft, but there were only numbers on the sides, no logo military or otherwise. After a few moments of anxious consideration, Peter lassoed the underside of the copter and swung up into the landing struts for a free ride.

It had to be Hammer again. Peter's heart thumped as he watched the smoke in the distance, and he wished he still had his phone out so he could listen to the police broadcast. He probably wouldn't have been able to hear anything over the copter blades anyway, he reasoned. So he turned his attention forward, watching in relief as the lights of Stark Tower flickered back on one floor at a time. It was obviously their destination, and he started to worry that he was under some kind of enemy gunship heading in for the kill. Or was it the good guys? The metal shuddered under his hands and feet, and he wrapped himself up tighter, unsure of what to do.

They reached the tower, and Peter dropped himself off on the roof of the Bank of America building, just in case the copter started firing and he needed to swing up to the cab in a hurry. He relaxed when he saw Steve and Pepper in the balcony doorway, waiting to greet their unorthodox guests. Perched on the ledge, he watched as Director Fury and Agent Romanoff disembarked with Tony and two men in black suits following behind.

"The men in black," Peter said under his breath. "I guess it's serious after all." He stood, wondering how he could swing to the helipad without ending up in the blades, when his foot struck something on the ledge next to him. He bent down and retrieved a small metal cylinder with burn marks along the edges. Finding it curious, he tucked it into his sleeve and lowered himself a few floors before swinging over to the tower.

It took more than the usual maneuvering, but Peter managed to slip onto the helipad and to the balcony doors. JARVIS was accustomed to him enough that he was able to creep through the door without triggering security, but he kept low anyway, nervous over the possibility of meeting Director Fury for real.

They were gathered around the sofas, several different news stations muted on the television, more screens on the glass coffee table displaying security cameras and lines of computer code. Everyone was tense and trying to talk at once.

"Well, thanks, then, for punching the lab door in," Tony was saying as he slumped with Pepper on the end of the sofa. She had one of his hands gripped in both of hers. "Because that was so necessary."

Steve was standing opposite him with his arms crossed. "What was I supposed to do? We had to get in there. I thought a bomb was going off."

"This isn't a Nazi war base, Rogers," Tony snapped. "It doesn't have a self-destruct button."

"What else am I supposed to think when a _red_ timer is counting down?"

"Intruder," said Natasha.

Steve frowned at her. "Why would that require a timer?"

Natasha tilted her head to the side and everyone looked, spotting Peter at last. He froze. Bruce was at the other end of the sofa, and his relieved smile gave Peter the confidence he needed to straighten up. "'Intruder' is a strong word," he said. "I prefer...visitor?"

Director Fury regarded him without amusement. "Lose the mask," he said.

"Um, actually...." Peter fidgeted. "It's kind of necessary for the whole _secret_ identity thing--"

"Lose the mask, Parker," said Fury, "or go home."

Peter gulped, and with a nod from Bruce he took the mask off. After making a quick attempt at combing his hair back he approached and offered his hand. "It's an honor to properly meet you, Director Fury," he said. "I've heard a lot about you."

Fury gave Peter a look, but he did shake his hand. "Normally, you and I would have a conversation," he said. "But I've got more important things to worry about. Do you know anything about what happened tonight?"

"Um...no. Not exactly."

"Then take a seat." Fury waved him off. "Stark was just about to lay it out for us."

Peter wasn't sure he could sit next to Bruce without making a scene--wasn't sure he could even _look_ at him. Despite the anxious circumstances even being in the same room as Bruce reminded him of that morning, and the night before it. Wishing desperately he could put the mask back on, he hopped onto the sofa, sitting on the back of it with his legs dangling. At least then he could feel Bruce's shoulder against his calf without anyone thinking it suspicious. Bruce nudged him with his elbow. For some reason it gave Peter butterflies, but he managed to wrangle them down quickly enough.

"Well, Stark?" Fury prodded. "What happened?"

Tony scraped his hand across his mouth. He looked shaken, and that alone squashed whatever good humor Peter had left in him. "My system was compromised," he admitted.

"How?"

"In English," added Steve.

Tony made a face at him and had to rethink his explanation. "The core of JARVIS' Tower AI is in the sub-basement," he said. "He's hardwired into every level of the building--he connects everything. And when the armors are at rest, they're connected by a hard line as well. They reconfigure, they share data. When the armor is engaged, the hard wire disconnects, and JARVIS has to reestablish the connection wirelessly, via satellite. Hammer--or whoever he paid to pull this off, and he _must_ have paid someone, because there's no way he could have--"

"Tony," Pepper said gently.

Tony rubbed his face again. "Whenever JARVIS connects to the armor wirelessly, he creates a new encryption code, to prevent a breach. Someone interrupted the process and was able to hijack the signal. They created a false connection to their own primitive-- _very_ primitive--AI and were able to control the armor."

Peter just barely managed to keep himself from swearing aloud. He glanced to the muted television, where the headline IRON MAN DECLARES WAR ON JUSTIN HAMMER? was scrolling across the bottom of a newscast.

"So, he made you fire a missile at his own apartment," said Steve.

Tony looked away and didn't answer. "Rescue teams are on the scene now," Fury took over for him. "With some of ours, as well. So far they haven't discovered any bodies. Records show only minimal electricity use since Hammer was released. We think he was simply keeping the place up as a relay for his..." Fury made a face. "Tweets."

Peter set his backpack down between his feet. While he was leaning forward he took the opportunity to glance at Bruce's face. Bruce hadn't said a word yet; he was just staring at the floor, either deeply thoughtful or trying not to pay attention. Peter hated seeing him like that and he wished he could have said something. "Has he Tweeted anything since?" Peter asked, and he flinched when Fury's eye swiveled to him. "Do you think he's trying to fake his death or something?"

"We've connected eighteen different Twitter accounts to him so far," said Natasha. "If he logs into any of them, we'll know."

"I doubt he'll be able to resist long enough to carry out a successful fake death anyway," Fury grumbled. "We've seen how much he loves the spotlight."

"We have to find him and bring him in," said Steve.

"That is a given, and we're working on it. But we have to deal with _this_." Fury gestured to the televisions. "FBI, NSA, and NYPD are all downstairs trying to get in here to talk to you, Stark. If you don't have a story to tell them, I'm going to have to take you in myself."

"Whoa, wait a minute," said Pepper. "You're going to _arrest_ him?" Tony refused to meet anyone's eyes.

"Better us than anyone else. The press is already up his ass. Have you figured out what you're going to say?"

Tony shook his head. "Not sure if it matters," he said. "I don't know if I can even _prove_ the system was compromised. I haven't figured out the entry method."

"Entry method?" Steve repeated.

"How they jacked the signal. They couldn't have just accessed JARVIS remotely. There had to have been a device implanted on the armor, but the system that checks for that sort of thing was the first one to go offline, and it's not detecting anything now. It may have disengaged once the connection was made."

"There was someone on the roof of the Bank of America building," said Bruce unexpectedly, and Peter started at the sound of his voice. "I saw something just before the alarms went off."

"Oh--hey!" Peter reached into his sleeve for the cylinder he'd discovered earlier. "I was just over there. I found this on the roof." He tossed it to Tony, but Natasha intercepted it easily.

"You're not wearing gloves," she said by way of explanation, but she did move closer so Tony could see it.

"Shit," muttered Tony. "They must have been waiting on the roof. Fired a burst of tracking beacons for their AI to lock onto."

"Sir," JARVIS interrupted. "There's just been a post to Justin Hammer's Twitter account."

Fury grumbled something about "the world we live in" under his breath as JARVIS pulled the Tweet up on the main screen. It read: _Missed me #winkyface_

"Son of a bitch," growled Tony, and then everyone was talking at once, frustrated and angry. JARVIS relayed requests from the growing number of officers, agents, and reporters waiting in the Tower lobby, and Fury tried again to make Tony agree to a tactful retreat. Peter kept his head down. He already felt out of place among so many men and women of experience, and he turned his attention to his phone, calling up Twitter.

The #hammerlives tag was already trending. He refreshed, watching the Retweets rise. He was starting to seriously consider upping his social media game when he received a text from Gwen with a link to _her_ Twitter, where she had Retweeted a photo tagged simply #JHammer, posted by a new account with no followers. It wasn't a popular tag and hadn't received much attention, but as soon as the photo loaded Peter jumped off the sofa.

"It's him!" Peter crouched down in front of the coffee table, but when he tried to use the touch controls that powered the television display, it didn't work. He pulled his glove off with his teeth and tried again, putting in the address. "Someone posted a picture. It's definitely him."

The picture came up for everyone to see. It wasn't a very clear shot, taken probably in a hurry, of Justin Hammer's turned back as he surveyed what looked like the apartment fire on a television. There were blurred images of men in the background, and just barely visible in the corner, a broad metal disc.

Peter could almost see Steve's hackles rise. "That's my shield," he said, pointing it out on the screen. "You can see where the paint was burned off. That bastard's displaying it."

"That could be a lot of things," said Fury, though he didn't sound like he doubted. He looked to Natasha. "Tell tech to get a trace on that account."

As Peter continued to stare at the photo, it finally clicked. "I know where this is." His chest burned with an anxious, angry sensation. "This was taken at Oscorp."

"Are you sure?" Bruce asked, even though he knew Peter was.

"Yes--look." He traced over the shape of an office entrance in the background. It would have been impossible to make out if he hadn't been there himself. "This is floor sixty-two of the Oscorp Headquarters: Dr. Connor's old office. I've been there." He straightened up and turned to face the rest of them. "Norman Osborn is behind this."

Fury hummed thoughtfully. "That would fill some of the gaps," he conceded. "How they're being funded, who Ross is using to analyze the blood they took."

"And the hydromorphone," said Natasha. "Osborn's been buying the stuff by the case."

Bruce straightened his back against the sofa. "Excuse me--what?"

"Intel says Norman Osborn is terminally ill," Fury explained. "No one can quite pin down what it is, but he's been hiring in all manner of medical specialists for at least the last year." He exchanged a look with Natasha. "It would also explain how they were able to get Dr. Connors his serum during the breakout."

"It might be that Ross isn't involved after all."

"No," Bruce said. Peter felt him go tense. "No, just because Osborn might be involved, that doesn't take General Ross out of the equation."

Natasha folded her arms. "We still don't have any way to connect him to this."

"You don't have _anything_ , period." Bruce leaned forward against his knees. "What the hell have you even been doing? You're the one that brought us all together, and now that there are targets on our backs, you're throwing us to the wolves."

"No one is--" Fury started to say, but Bruce wasn't done.

"You couldn't protect Captain fucking America," he went on heatedly, and everyone around the room became very alert very fast. "You couldn't protect Tony Stark. What does that mean for the rest of us? Hammer is going to come down again, and maybe you haven't thought this far ahead, but I for one don't want to see what he has in store for the Other Guy."

Peter licked his suddenly dry lips. He wanted to reach for Bruce, but he knew how it would look. Steve beat him to it anyway. Steve took two steps and set his hand on Bruce's shoulder, steadying him. Peter couldn't tell if Bruce appreciated the gesture or not, but he did settle down. "Dr. Banner is right," said Steve. "Whether it's Ross, Osborn, or both, the point is, we need to pull Hammer in. We know where he is."

"That picture was posted recently," said Fury. "We don't know yet if it was _taken_ recently. And even if it was, what if Hammer leaked it himself? Are you willing to walk into another trap?"

"If Hammer wanted you to see it, wouldn't he have tagged it as something more easily searchable?" said Pepper. "Everything else he's done so far has been right out in front."

"That may very well be the point."

"Trap or not, we can't just let him go," Steve pressed on. "If he put it out himself at least it means he'll be there when we show up. But if this is someone helping us, we have to move on it before Hammer catches wind and disappears."

Fury unclipped a radio from his belt and held it to his mouth. "Sitwell, come back."

"Yes, Director?"

"Take a detail down to the Oscorp building. I want a perimeter."

"Yes, sir."

"Hammer had Stark all figured out," said Natasha. "He knew to keep poking until Stark finally took the bait. He's probably had someone stashed on that roof ever since this started. Do you really think you can march into his turf and take him off guard?"

"I've done it before," said Steve. "I want Hammer and I want my SHIELD back, tonight."

Fury was shaking his head. "Captain, I understand how you feel, but--"

"Will all due respect, sir," Steve interrupted tersely, "I don't think you have any idea how I feel. And we're wasting time talking about it." He gave Bruce's neck a squeeze and then stepped back. "I'm going to suit up."

Fury didn't try to stop him from heading to the stairs. Instead he pulled Natasha aside, and as the two of them spoke in low tones, Pepper accepted a call from what sounded like Tony's lawyer. Tony looked to Bruce. "Remember what you said in the limo?" he said. "About me not getting it?" Bruce shook his head and didn't reply, so Tony turned away, involving himself with Pepper's phone call.

Peter finally took the opportunity to slide back to Bruce. He didn't know what to say. He kept looking at the picture still called up on the screen: the office Dr. Connors had once called his own, maintaining and nourishing it for years while he pursued his life's work, taken over by petty thugs and a lying dirtbag. It made his skin crawl, and he wanted to charge into the hornet's nest alongside Captain America and lay waste to them. But Bruce was leaning into his white knuckles, his eyes hooded and vague. He looked ragged.

Peter sat down next to him. "Bruce...?"

Bruce was quiet for a moment, and then he took in a long breath. "You said you needed help with your phone," he said. He stood. "There's another hookup by the bar."

Bruce strode away, and Peter snatched up his old and new phone to follow. He took a seat on one of the barstools while Bruce moved behind the bar itself. Yet another screen raised from the surface with a tap of Bruce's knuckles, and after a moment of hunting, he turned up a USB to connect the phone to it.

Peter glanced behind him, and once he was sure no one was paying attention to them, he asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm all right." Bruce scrubbed his hand across his eyes and seemed to rally himself. "I think I could use a vacation," he joked weakly.

Peter smiled, but he wasn't able to hold it long. He leaned against his elbows and watched as JARVIS went to work on his phone, clearing up the lockout without any trouble. "I was trying to turn it into a police scanner like that last one," he explained. "Apparently it didn't take to well to that."

"I'm sure JARVIS can help us figure it out, even with half his systems off line."

Peter looked behind him again, and then back. He lowered his voice even though they were out of earshot. "Bruce. If Cap goes to Oscorp, I'm going with him."

Bruce didn't look up from the screen. "He won't let you."

"I don't care what he says, I'm going," Peter insisted, determination welling up inside him. "He's right--we have to nail these assholes, as soon as possible. If they can get to Mr. Stark they can get to any of us. If they find out who I am, where I live--"

"I know," said Bruce. He put his glasses on as he watched the computer screen. "But this is Oscorp we're talking about. You're not going to be able to just waltz in."

"I did last time."

"You got _caught_ last time and were almost killed," Bruce snapped, but he drew himself quickly in again, shaking his head. "Steve won't let you go."

Peter clenched his jaw against a quick retort. Instead he reached across the bar, gripping Bruce's hand with his one bare one. "If he goes, I'm going," he said seriously. "I have to. Hammer tried to kill me, and Osborn..." His shoulders hitched. "He might have had something to do with my parents. I can't sit this out."

Bruce frowned, and started to answer, but his attention was drawn sharply back to the screen. He tapped a few things and shook his head. "What in the..."

"What?" Peter leaned forward, and Bruce turned the screen so he could see. A new window had popped up, with data scrolling by faster than Peter could make sense of. "Is that going into my phone?"

Bruce stared across the room, and Peter followed his line of sight to where Tony was still seated on the couch. He had his phone out and was tapping swiftly with his thumbs. Fury, who was trying to talk to him, got agitated. "Is there something more important you want to be doing?" Fury said.

"I'm texting Rhodey," said Tony. "Which, yeah, is important." But then his gaze flicked to Bruce and Peter, sharp and meaningful, before he returned to what he was doing.

Peter turned back before Fury could realize something was up. "He's not breaking my phone, is he?" he said. "It was a gift from my aunt."

"No, he's..." Bruce poked around in the code that was being entered, his brow furrowed. His shoulders drooped. "He wants you to go to Oscorp."

Peter felt a chill. "He has a plan?"

"He's programing your phone with a virus." A second window popped up, showing a diagram of how the phone could be connected to the satellite dish on the roof of the Oscorp headquarters. "It'll force system security to allow for a connection from Tony's satellite," Bruce explained. "He'll have access to the entire building." Bruce tongued the inside of his cheek. He looked like he was trying to remain angry despite being impressed. "Damn it, Tony."

Peter squirmed anxiously. He could feel the hairs on his arms trying to rise beneath his suit. Without waiting for another round of protests he returned to the sofa, snatching up his mask, glove, and backpack. He gave Tony a subtle nod of acknowledgment and then hopped back to the bar.

"Parker," Fury called after him. "What are you up to?"

"Just getting my extra SD card, sir," Peter replied. He set the backpack on the bar and pulled his other glove back on, then started talking before Bruce could get a word out. "I know how you feel about this, but I'll be careful. Cap will be there. And I promise if things get too hot I'll get out. I have to do this."

Bruce watched him warily. "You don't even know what it is you _are_ doing," he said.

The stairwell door opened, and Steve reappeared. He was dressed in full uniform, though not the one Peter had seen him in during the alien invasion: it was a much darker blue, sleek and simple with a white star logo emblazoned across his chest. A pistol sat in the gun holster against his ribs, and an automatic rifle was slung over his shoulder. Watching him march across the room, Peter felt his heart rise up in his throat. Steve was powerful and beautiful, but there was something in his face and in the way he held his arm that suggested something was missing. Peter stared openly as Steve rejoined Fury and Natasha.

"Director Fury," he said. "I'm going with or without your orders."

Fury glared back at him, though Peter didn't know him well enough to even guess at what he was really thinking. "We still don't know for certain what the situation there is," he warned. "Hammer could be expecting you."

"It doesn't matter." Steve squared his shoulders; he was as impressive as ever and Peter couldn't imagine anyone not feeling a spark of awe at the sight. "You gave me a team, sir. My men are under attack. If the captain of the Avengers can't stand up for one of his own when he's needed, what was the point of any of it?"

Fury leaned back. Peter held his breath, and he could feel Bruce doing the same behind him. Then Natasha stepped forward. "I'll keep an eye on him for you, Director Fury," she said. "It would be a waste to sideline him when he's already suited up."

Fury sighed, his hands clasped behind his back. "Join with Agent Sitwell and his men at the Oscorp building," he said at last. "Its roof won't allow for an air transport pickup, so if Hammer is still inside, the only way he he'll be getting out is down. Once the perimeter is secure, you have my permission to go in. But." He fixed them both with a stern look. "Remember, it is a civilian facility. Don't cause me any lawsuits. We might be wrong on this."

"Discretion is what I do, sir," said Natasha coolly. Her lip twitched in an almost smile, and she headed for the elevator.

"Rogers," said Tony from the sofa. "Watch your back."

"I will." Steve nodded to him, but before joining Natasha he turned and spotted Peter at the bar. "Peter. Stay here."

Peter's toes curled. "I will."

"I mean it," Steve persisted. Peter felt as if those bright blue eyes were drilling straight through him. "We're going to handle this."

"I know, I know." Peter held his hands up in surrender. His stomach knotted. "I'm staying."

Steve lingered a moment longer and then joined Natasha in the elevator. Peter didn't let his breath out until they were gone. He twisted on the barstool to face Bruce again. "I had my fingers crossed," he whispered.

Bruce started and then gave up on one last protest. He pushed his glasses up and unplugged Peter's phone. "I'm taking this downstairs," he said to the room at large. "I can't stay here any longer. The atmosphere is getting to me."

Fury nodded. He watched as Bruce and Peter moved to the stairs, and then deliberately turned his back. "All right, Stark," he said. "I have an operation to oversee. You're going to have to spill your guts to the NSA on this one..."

"Sir, yes, sir," Tony mumbled, and then the stairwell door closed behind them.

Bruce didn't say anything the six floors down to Tony's lab. As soon as they were inside he connected Peter's phone to JARVIS again to let it finish downloading Tony's virus. "Hammer may have gotten the jump on him, but he's still a genius," he said, half to himself, as he began rearranging Tony's workspace. "If this thing works, it should give me eyes and ears on every floor. I'm sure Oscorp's system is a piece of work in itself. It may have facial recognition software we can use to track Hammer to his exact floor."

"Okay." Peter's heart beat a little faster as he set his backpack down. Bruce handed him an earpiece, which he slipped into place. "I'll get to the dish first, upload the virus, and wait for you to let me know where he is."

Bruce engaged JARVIS' hologram workspace, and an image of the Oscorp building filled the room. "I'll try to get in on Steve's feed as well," he said, "so I can keep you updated on where he is. If he knows you're there it's going to cause a problem."

"I'll stay out of his way," Peter promised, and he meant it. "I'm just there to support, in case they need me. I'll be careful."

The phone bleeped, and Bruce handed it back to its owner. He waited until Peter had stowed it away and was ready to go to say, "Peter. Please."

"I know." Because it seemed like the right thing to do, he touched Bruce's face and kissed him softly on the mouth. "I'm gonna be fine. Heroes do this all the time. Right?"

Bruce wrapped him up in his arms. His embrace was brief but tight, momentarily stealing Peter's breath away. He kissed Peter one more time before letting him go. "I'll be in your ear the whole time," he said. "I want to know what's going on, understand?"

"Of course." Peter gave his hand a squeeze and then let go. "I'll be back in no time." There weren't any open windows in the lab, so he headed back toward the stairs, planning to exit from Bruce's rooms. "Wish me luck."

Bruce swallowed. "Good luck."

Peter flashed him a grin and then darted out before it could falter.


	10. Chapter 10

Bruce sat alone in Tony's private lab, listening to Peter breathe.

He had done as much as he could, for the time being. JARVIS had already made a model of the Oscorp building using all the data available to him. Fury was using Tony's equipment to transmit to Steve and Natasha, so he helped himself to that, too, but there was nothing yet worth eavesdropping on. Tony himself was being interrogated by the NSA. The news didn't have any answers regarding the explosion. Hammer hadn't made any new announcements. All he could do was wait.

It was almost unbearable. He leaned against his folded hands and tried not to speculate on what awaited his friends, and tried just as hard not to think about the rest of the night's events. As foolish as it was, he _had_ believed there was an explosion waiting at the end of JARVIS' countdown. He had been prepared to call on his other half and he had felt it eager to answer. In the aftermath, it was pacing back and forth under his skin, angry at having been denied. It wanted out, and it might have only been a matter of time.

Bruce thought about Steve, which might not have been a good idea. He tried to imagine where that strength came from, that he was able to fight back against his deepest instincts. It wasn't something he was sure he could replicate. Then he thought of what Natasha had said, _maybe you just need to get it out of your system._ He tried to imagine what it would take, how much destruction would have to be rendered for his wrath to be spent. It wasn't something he was sure his conscience could abide, and it made the thing in him restless.

Bruce closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing. He listened to Peter's breath hissing between his lips and the mask, and began to pick out the hitch of excitement whenever Peter let go of one web strand to create another. An image of Peter painted itself across his mind: his long body a blur of blue and red sailing effortlessly between Manhattan's pillars. Peter always looked so free, so weightless. He was beautiful and agile and perfectly in control of his body. Unlike some people--

Bruce's brow furrowed, telling himself just to focus on the breathing, but even that charming little hitch began to dig under his skin, and then all he could think about was Peter wrapped up in his arms, panting, gasping, moaning, in ecstasy, and how much he wanted to give Peter that, and how angry he was with himself that he couldn't--

"Stop," Bruce growled, pressing the meat of his palms into his eyes. "Focus. Breathe."

"Bruce?" Peter's voice was muffled by the mask. "You okay?"

Bruce was tired of people asking him that. He wasn't okay. "I'm fine," he said. "Where are you?"

"I'm almost there. Looks like the Men in Black are setting up already. Some cop cars, too. I don't see any media yet."

Bruce had JARVIS check on the various stations and didn't notice anyone talking about Oscorp yet, either. "You'd better hurry. If Hammer didn't invite you, you only have a small window to take him by surprise."

"I'm on it."

Peter took a sharp breath, and Bruce had no trouble picturing him as he leapt off a ledge, firing his web into the distance. A few minutes later Peter said, "Okay, I'm just below the roof. Gonna clear out any guards and cameras."

Bruce swallowed. "Be careful."

He had to give Peter credit; he made quick work of Oscorp's rooftop defenses. After circling around to web out the cameras, he knocked out both guards without much fuss. "Okay," he said again. "I'm at the dish."

"Do you see an access panel?" asked Bruce, calling up the schematic JARVIS had created for him.

"Yeah, I think this is it." A sound of metal. "Connecting the phone. You know, this phone had better still work after all of this. It was a gift."

"It'll be fine," said Bruce. A window popped up on his end showing the progress of the upload. "JARVIS, how does it look?" he said. "Has security noticed?"

"It doesn't appear so, Dr. Banner," JARVIS reported dutifully, and the once the progress bar had finished, "Virus upload complete. Oscorp headquarters system security is at your mercy."

Bruce smirked despite himself. "Keep an eye on it for me. Did you hear that, Peter? It's working."

"See anything yet?"

Bit by bit, the hologram of the Oscorp building began to change. JARVIS used feeds from each of the security cameras to flesh out the interior, providing an increasingly detailed view. Bruce made a few futile gestures that only succeeded in sweeping the figure around before he figured out how to expand and change floors effectively. "Yes, I can see almost everything," he said, though he wasn't sure yet if he ought to be relieved. He shook his head. "Tony, you really are a genius."

"I'm sure he'll be glad to hear you say so," said JARVIS with a touch of sarcasm.

Another window popped up, showing an audio readout from Steve's earpiece. "Sir," he was reporting to Director Fury. "Widow and I have arrived at the scene. We're about to get the briefing from Sitwell."

"Copy that," Fury replied.

Bruce made sure the proper channels were muted and allowed before returning to Peter. "Steve and Natasha are there," he said. "It sounds like the perimeter is just about secure."

"Any sign of Hammer?"

Bruce enlarged floor sixty-two, and yet another window appeared, showing a live camera feed. His skin prickled as he watched Justin Hammer and about eight men laugh and joke over the news footage from the apartment explosion. "Hammer's on sixty-two, with what I'm assuming are the men that jumped you. It doesn't look like they're expecting company."

"Good. Then I'll just--"

"No, wait." Bruce called up the camera for the building lobby, but it didn't look as if Steve and SHIELD had made a move yet. "I want you to wait for Steve. If this isn't a trap, there shouldn't be any reason for you to get involved."

"You know I have reasons," said Peter.

"I know, but..." Bruce rubbed his face. "Just wait for a while, okay? I want to see what Steve is going to do. You're not going in there against a dozen mercenaries by yourself."

Peter let out a long sigh. "Okay, fine. I'm waiting."

"I'm tracking the GPS in that phone," Bruce warned.

"I know, geez. I'm waiting, okay?"

Bruce relaxed in his chair. In a screen on his left, text transcribed from Steve's audio feed scrolled by. They were discussing how many of Fury's agents to take in with them. After a few beats of silence, Peter cleared his throat.

"Hey. This line is secure, right?"

Bruce frowned. "Just you, me, and JARVIS."

Another silence; it made Bruce itch. Finally, Peter said, "I told Aunt May about us."

Bruce stared straight ahead. Natasha was asking about exit strategies. "How much?"

"Um, all of it. Pretty much." Peter must have fiddled with his mask, because Bruce heard the fabric scratch against his earpiece. "I'm sorry--I should have okayed it with you first."

"She's your family, Peter," said Bruce. "What you tell her is entirely up to you." His nerves were already so strained he almost didn't register the added tension. "How did she take it?"

"She's, well...happy that we talked, I think. Not so happy about, you know. Age difference." Peter coughed. "She said she needed some time to take it in."

"Understandably." Bruce felt guilty for wanting to sweep the subject aside, but it wouldn't do either of them any good to dwell on it when a potential battle awaited them. "I want to meet her," he said. "Once everything's calmed down."

"She's probably going to yell at you," Peter warned, both wary and relieved.

"I think I can manage."

"Dr. Banner," said JARVIS, "Captain Rogers appears to be approaching the building."

Bruce glanced to the lobby camera, and saw Oscorp security began to rally as Steve and Natasha marched up to the entrance with four suited agents and a dozen more in combat gear. "Fury must have had some men on standby after all," Bruce muttered, watching as Steve rapped on the security door. If the camera resolution had been any better, Bruce was sure he would have been able to see Oscorp's doorman sweating through his uniform.

"I'm going to need to see some identification," the man said. "And a warrant, from the looks of it."

"You know who we are," said Steve. "These men here are going to explain the situation to you, but for now I just need you to step aside and let us work."

As the two of them argued over constitutional rights, a warning flashed up on Bruce's screen. "One of the security officers is attempting to contact floor sixty-two," said JARVIS.

Bruce switched cameras and saw a bald man in uniform with the desk phone to his ear. "Can you prevent him?"

"Already did, Dr. Banner."

The man scowled at the phone, giving it a shake. Bruce couldn't help but smirk. "How about the security door? Can you override it?"

"It wouldn't be much of a virus if I couldn't, Dr. Banner," said JARVIS, and to the surprise of the Oscorp guards, the glass doors slid open.

"Thank you for your cooperation," said Natasha as she glided inside and headed straight for the desk.

"Wait, you can't--" the guard started to say, but by then Steve and the rest of the men were on their way in. Steve ordered two men to guard the door while the men in suits fanned out, politely detaining the security guards on duty.

The bald man was still seated behind the security desk when Natasha joined him, and Bruce shifted in his seat, watching the strict attention he was paying her. He looked tense, and his hand was moving under the desk. Bruce didn't like suspense. Even though he hated to do it, he opened the com link to her earpiece.

"Agent Romanoff," he said quickly, "the man on your nine o'clock is one of Hammer's."

She was almost too fast for the camera to catch. Within seconds Natasha had the man face down against the desk, his arm twisted behind his back. The suited agents rushed over, and one discovered that the man had been reaching for the silent alarm. As they secured him and the other officers, Natasha put her hand to her ear. "If you wanted to come along, you could have just said so," she said.

"You don't want me there, believe me," said Bruce. "I'm doing you more good here anyway." With the cat already out of the bag he surrendered the rest. "Hammer is on sixty-two with just under a dozen men. They're well-armed but it doesn't look like they're expecting you. I'll keep an eye on them."

"Banner," Fury said crossly. "Is that you on my secure com link?"

"Well," said Peter in the other window, "that sure didn't last long."

Bruce rubbed his mouth. "Sir, I will explain later," he said. "But right now I have eyes on Hammer. If you move now, you should be able to take him by surprise."

"Copy that," said Natasha before anyone else could protest. "Director Fury, we're sending the security officers out now. Agent Baker is proceeding to security with escort. The Captain and I will take the elevator to sixty-one and proceed via the east stairwell. Are all targets considered free save Hammer?"

"Negative," said Fury. "Non-lethal captures wherever possible. I want to know who these men are and where they came from. Proceed."

"Copy."

"You and I are going to have a conversation, Dr. Banner," said Fury as Steve and Natasha moved to the elevator with their soldiers.

"Yes, sir," said Bruce, but he was watching Steve. Once everyone was on board the elevator Steve looked up at the camera, his face unreadable, and put his hand to his ear.

"Where is he?" he asked seriously.

Bruce swallowed, and when his gaze leapt to Peter's display, he noticed that the signal from the GSP put him several floors below the roof. He bit back a curse and connected Peter's audio. "He's right here, Steve."

"Hi, Cap," Peter said obediently.

Steve lowered his hand. He didn't looked convinced, but he didn't say anything more. Natasha looked at him. "I didn't step on your toes just now, did I?" she asked. "This is your operation."

"My toes are fine," he replied. "I always appreciate your input."

Bruce closed the audio lines and switched to him and Peter only again. "Where the hell are you?"

"Making my way down through the air ducts," said Peter. "I've done it before. And before you say anything, you said to wait until Steve was in, and he is. I'm just getting closer so that I'm ready when things go down."

Bruce started to protest anyway, but then the door opened behind him, and Director Fury walked in with his hands clasped behind his back. "We're going to have a conversation _now_ ," he said.

Bruce wilted in his chair.

***

A similar scene played out across town.

When General Ross approached Osborn's condominium, it was in full uniform with five soldiers at his back. He finally felt like himself, with a service pistol tucked into his jacket and a chest full of brass earned over a lifetime. They wasted no time, strong-arming the doorman and making their way to the front desk.

The security chief on duty recognized him from his earlier visits. "General Ross," he stammered. "Mr. Osborn didn't say he was expecting you."

"We're going up," said Ross, not breaking stride. "Let him know."

The doorman made the call, eyeing them the entire way to the elevator. Once they were inside, Ross turned to his men. "Osborn will have private security up there," he said. "Three men at the most. We're not looking for a fight. Keep the exits secure, obtain the sample, leave Osborn to me. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," they replied.

Ross watched the floor numbers climb.

***

Hammer was tossing back a scotch when someone on CNN said, "We're seeing some activity surrounding the Oscorp building. Information is sketchy at the moment, but insiders are speculating that it has something to do with this photo, which was posted to Twitter half an hour ago."

Hammer looked up and saw himself, captured from behind with that evening's news on the screen. He twisted in his chair, looking to where the photo had to have been taken from. "Shit." He bounded to his feet and stared at the television with its images of police cars surrounding the Oscorp building. "That ugly bastard sold us out."

The mercenaries, who had been pleasant enough company for the evening, became professionals again. Without needing instructions from Hammer they began to suit up, snatching up their guns and equipment. Two broke up the computers they had been using and put lighters to the motherboards. Hammer uttered a string of curses as he dialed Nathan Lemon. "Don't come back here," he said as soon as the call went through. "The tower's been made. Get your men to the location I gave you earlier."

"Sure you're not going to need help out of the tower?" he asked.

"That might be out of my price range." Hammer's knuckled whitened against the phone. "Looks like my bank sold me out."

"I know you're good for it. Call back if you need me."

They both hung up, and Hammer shrugged out of his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. "All right," he said, tucking his phone in the pocket of his vest. He strapped a gun holster to his chest and shoved a grenade in each pocket of his pants. "Exit strategy...three? Three seems right for this, don't you think?"

"Ready when you are," said the man closest. He offered up Captain America's shield. "Souvenir?"

Hammer licked his lips as he slipped the shield over his left arm. He had to admit, it felt damn good. "Remember, gentlemen: headshots only. Don't want to ruin any uniforms."

One of the mercenaries pulled the fire alarm, and the electronic locks on the stairwell door popped open. Sirens blared all across the floor and the emergency lights flared, pointing out the exits. Hammer let his men go through first, making a quick search of the lab to make sure he hadn't left behind anything he couldn't do without. Then he laughed at himself.

As he joined the others in the stairwell, the last of them--Wilson--had waited for him. "Exit strategy four, Mr. Hammer?" he suggested.

Hammer shook his head. "No one's putting handcuffs on me," he said, "not even as a joke." He held his gun in his hand. "Whatever happens, I am not going back to prison. You'll help me make sure of that, won't you?"

"If it comes to that," he said, and they followed the rest of the men upstairs.

***

"Ahh, shit," Bruce grumbled as his screen flared red. "He pulled the fire alarm."

Fury was standing over his shoulder. It wasn't a very comfortable arrangement, but at least it meant he didn't have to look Fury in the face. "Hammer's on the move," he reported to his agents. "They're on to you, moving into the stairwells." He put a hand on the back of Bruce's chair, and Bruce shifted forward to avoid any contact. "Can't you lock those emergency doors from here?"

"JARVIS?"

"I'm afraid the emergency protocols are coded too deeply within the system for me to override remotely," said JARVIS. "Elevators have been halted, and all exits except for fire doors are open."

"It's dropping us off on floor forty-eight," reported Steve. "We'll split up between the two stairwells and continue on foot."

"Watch yourself, Captain," said Fury. "They have a serious arsenal on them."

"Copy that."

"If you're going to be down here anyway," said Bruce as he highlighted floors sixty-one and sixty-three, trying to pick Hammer up again, "it might as well be Tony handling this."

"Stark is busy," Fury grunted. "I have you." He reached over Bruce's shoulder and enlarged the area that showed Peter's GPS signal. "You're sure about this?"

"Of course I'm not." Bruce rearranged the display so that he had the tower in the center, Steve's position on the left, Peter's on the right. Sweat formed on his upper lip as he watched them slowly converging. "But there wasn't anything I could have said."

Fury hummed quietly, and something about it made Bruce pause. He looked over his shoulder. "Do you know something?" he asked bluntly.

But Fury's face was a mask, as always. "I'm just very interested to see how this plays out," he said.

Though he was still suspicious, Bruce turned back to the display. He muted one half of the coms again. "Peter, Hammer's making a run for it. Steve and Agent Romanoff were locked out of the elevator and are heading up, but--wait." One of the security camera's on floor sixty-three showed three men burst out of the stairway access, but as soon as they were inside one of them turned, firing into the camera. One by one they took out each one, and just as the last went dead, Bruce saw the lead mercenary shoot a security guard in the head.

"Fuckers," said Fury.

"What is it?" asked Peter.

"They're heading up. Taking out security guards." Bruce scrolled up the building. "Floors sixty-five and above are listed in the building directory as medical research, but they sure look like weapons development from here. That might be where they're headed."

Another three men came out on floor sixty-four and repeated the process of shooting out the cameras. "Taking out the cameras doesn't do them any good if we can _see_ them taking out the cameras," said Fury. "So what are they up to? And where is Hammer?"

"I don't know." Bruce shook his head. "I'm not exactly a military strategist."

Fury relayed the latest to his team while Bruce sat back. He could feel movement inside his brain like a pacing animal.

***

Peter had just reached floor sixty-seven when he began to hear the gunshots. He flattened himself inside the air duct, listening to the distant bangs. As confident as he had tried to be in front of Bruce, his fingers flexed anxiously against the metal. He was about to go up against the team of mercenaries he had watched best Captain America. He should have followed Bruce's advice and stayed out of it, but then he remembered, _they're taking people out_ , and he forced his nerves aside. He couldn't just sit still while people were being killed.

He slipped into the next duct and came out on floor sixty-six, which didn't look to be occupied. It was made up of fewer rooms than the other floors, with a wide, open layout that gave the appearance of a testing ground and broad, rounded archways instead of proper doors. "They're not really testing guns up here, are they?" Peter muttered as he passed into the next room. "Imagine if they shot out a window."

"Please just stay focused," said Bruce.

Peter turned the corner and stopped. A strange device was displayed at the center of the room: it looked like a metal kite, two-meters across with an underside covered in thrusters similar to that of the Iron Man armor. "Seriously," he muttered. "I didn't think Oscorp was into--"

"Peter," Bruce said urgently. "They've finished clearing out sixty-five--they're on their way to you."

Peter leapt to the ceiling and crawled along it until he could see the stairwell door. "And the Captain?"

"On sixty-three. Agent Romanoff is clearing the floor, but Steve should be there soon."

The stairwell banged open, and Justin Hammer stepped out. He was packing and he moved quickly through the floor, shooting out the cameras. Peter clung to the ceiling behind an archway, buzzing with anger at the sight of Steve's seared shield on Hammer's arm. Hammer was alone, and he was only carrying one pistol. Peter had taken out dozens of small-time thugs just like him that were carrying more heat than a .38, but he still hesitated. He thought of Hammer's sickly laugh echoing across the cemetery.

"That's the last of the cameras," said Bruce. "I can't see you, Peter."

Hammer passed beneath him. Peter tensed, steeling himself, and with a deep breath he pounced.

Hammer turned, and was just quick enough to lift the shield before Peter hit. It didn't do him much good, as Peter's weight still pushed him off his feet. He landed on his back, the shield across his chest with Peter poised victoriously on top of it. When Hammer tried to lift the pistol, Peter trapped his wrist to the ground using the arch of his foot.

"Ow, fuck," Hammer whined. He twisted ineffectively. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

"Retrieving stolen property." Peter rapped on the shield. "This doesn't belong to you."

"Finders, keepers," Hammer said petulantly.

"You didn't find it, you _stole_ it. Just like you helped yourself to Mr. Stark's armor, huh?" Peter burned with injustice and he was tempted to bust Hammer's face a little. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

Hammer stopped fighting, and he looked at Peter as if his answer should have been obvious. "I just want you all to know how it feels to lose."

Peter flushed all over. When he grabbed Hammer by the collar the sweat around his knuckles felt like blood trapped beneath his suit. "You're a criminal and a murderer!" he snarled. "You don't know anything about loss, you rich son of a--"

The stairwell door banged open behind them, but Peter knew immediately it wasn't Steve. He dove for cover behind a desk just ahead of a spray of gunshots. Two men in Oscorp security uniforms rushed forward with automatic rifles, and Peter had no choice but to retreat again, using a web on the far door frame to sling himself into the next room. There weren't many places to hide. Most of the desks and tables were pushed up against the walls, and the ceiling was low and flat. The gunfire, coupled with the still blaring fire alarm, turned the floor into chaos, and he darted around another corner looking for _somewhere_ he could use as a means to counter from.

"Bruce," he gasped out as one of the men fired at him from the doorway. He shot a glob of webbing behind him but it hit the wall. "Hammer's men are in security uniforms. They're on sixty-six."

"Peter--" Bruce started to say, but then Peter's earpiece was drowned in more gunfire. Peter tensed and almost tripped, thinking that more men had entered his floor, but the he heard Steve and Natasha passing orders to their men. Somewhere below another fight was going on.

Peter jumped over the kite-thing and realized suddenly that they were going in a circle. He ducked behind the clamps holding the device in place and leaned to the side, shooting another round of web balls at his pursuers. When one finally caught the gunman by the ankle he yanked, spilling him into his back. Rather than leave his hiding place to finish him off, he yanked again. The uniform slid nicely along the polished tile floor and when the man was in range, Peter leapt on him, knocking him unconscious with a punch to the face.

Footsteps behind him. Peter dove again, feeling the breath of bullets shooting past his calf. Bruce's voice was in his ear-- _Steve, please get up there--_ and Peter jumped to the ceiling. He longed for a building top to retreat to. The gunfire followed him, taking out lights and computer monitors as he jumped to the floor, to the doorway, escaping by the skin of his teeth at every opportunity. Glass shattered in all directions and some of it caught in his suit. Finally he heard the click of the magazine emptying, and he whirled with both web shooters ready. He caught the second mercenary by the shoulders and pulled him off his feet, right into the hard bone of his heel.

Peter ducked under a work table to catch his breath. The gunfire had stopped. Between the siren blasts he heard Hammer running away, and he followed, telling himself again that if he could handle two professionals with automatics he could handle Hammer. He found Hammer in the room he had entered from, a few steps from the stairwell door.

The door opened, and Peter skidded to a halt, ready to dive for cover again. But then Hammer back-peddled, too. Steve was in the doorway. He grabbed his shield with both hands, whipping it around so that Hammer's arm slid right out of the harness on his way to falling on his ass.

Peter ducked behind a computer desk as Steve stalked into the room. His eyes were hard and there were flecks of someone else's blood across the white star on his chest. As he slotted the shield onto his arm everything seemed to click into place, and Peter felt a shiver of awe.

Hammer, meanwhile, was stumbling to his feet. "Okay," he said, rubbing the small of his back. He held up a hand in surrender as Steve advanced. "Okay, just hold on a minute, just--"

Steve reeled back and punched him square in the mouth. The crack of teeth beneath Steve's knuckles could be heard even over the alarm, and Hammer dropped like a stone, gasping and sputtering as his gun and glasses went skittering away. Peter felt suspended, as if watching something out of a movie--he couldn't even find it in himself to cheer. He just stared, holding his breath as Hammer struggled again to get upright. He spat blood and two teeth.

"Wait," he wheezed, pushing against his knees to regain his balance. "Wait--"

Steve hit him again, but with the shield. Blood smeared across the already mangled surface, but before Hammer could collapse, Steve grabbed him by the front of his vest and backed him into a table. Only the stern hand and the metal at his back kept Hammer on his feet.

"You...you broke my nose," Hammer gurgled.

"I'm just following your advice, Mr. Hammer," said Steve. "How am I doing so far?"

Hammer coughed, spraying more blood across Steve's uniform. "That..." He pawed at Steve's arm, maybe a feeble attempt to escape, maybe just to make sure he wouldn't fall. "Fuck. Nicely done, I guess."

"You're under arrest, Justin Hammer," said Steve. "Your guys were pretty clever but we're rounding them up. You're all going back to prison."

"No," said Hammer. He leaned in closer and smacked his red lips. "I'm not."

He pulled a grenade out of his pocket. The pin was already gone, and he flicked the lever off with his thumb. Steve reeled back, but Hammer dug his free hand into the gun belt crossing Steve's chest and came with him. Peter reacted on instinct; his hand shot forward, lassoing the grenade with a strand of web. A twist of his arm sent it whipping away, into a line of windows, where it struck and then detonated with a blast of fire. The rush of blazing air tossed Peter to the ground. His head struck the leg of a desk, and for several seconds he could only groan dizzily, listening to the shattering glass.

Steve's broad hand touched the back of his neck, and he sat up, getting his bearings. "Are you all right?" Steve asked.

"Yeah." Peter shook his head, and though it was pounding, he found it clearer than a moment ago. "Fine."

Steve hauled him to his feet with very little effort. He was singed at the edges but otherwise seemed okay. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Uh...saving your life?" Peter looked around; the grenade had blown out the windows, and he hoped that Director Fury's perimeter was far back enough that no one had been hurt by the glass. "Where's Hammer?"

An engine roared to life in the next room. Steve and Peter both turned, having no idea what to expect. Something streaked through the nearest archway and then past them: a blurred human shape atop the metal glider Peter had taken note of earlier. It was sleek and fast, and even though Steve lunged at it he had no hope of connecting. They could hear Hammer laugh.

Peter knew he was going to do something stupid long before he pointed both wrists at the fleeing craft. His web caught the back edge in two places, and as the glider rocketed out of the building, Peter came with it, a quick push of the balls of his feet lifting him over the jagged edge of the shattered windows. Then he was in the open air, wind whistling in the tiny rips of his costume, hanging on for dear life as his legs flailed and the glider pitched and banked.

Steve shouted something behind him, but his voice was quickly lost.


	11. Chapter 11

Bruce was watching the screens through his fingers when Peter's red light streaked out of the schematic. He sat up, and JARVIS must have anticipated him, because the main display switched from the view of the Oscorp building to an overhead map of the city. "Peter?" said Bruce. "Are you outside the building?"

Peter's breath was coming hard and fast, but there was more than that--air rushing past the earpiece. "I'm okay!" Peter said at last. "I'm, uh, I'm in pursuit!"

"In pursuit of _what_?" demanded Fury.

"Sir," said Steve in the other window. "It's Hammer. He's taken off on some kind of one-man jet. I can't go after them."

Fury opened another frequency. "Raymond, get our bird in the air. I'm sending you a signal to follow."

"Peter, Fury's men are on it," said Bruce. "You don't have to--"

"I'm okay! I'm--whoa!" There was a thud, followed by Peter making flustered, indecipherable declarations. "I'm okay," he said again. "Flagpole--no biggie."

Bruce sank back in his chair and covered his eyes. "I can't watch this."

Fury gave his shoulder a squeeze, but it didn't help. At all. "I can handle this alone if you need to leave the room, Doctor."

"No." Bruce shrugged Fury off, and he didn't push it. "No, I need to be here." He forced himself to watch Peter's cursor moving steadily across the map.

***

"You're not helping this go any faster," muttered Osborn.

Ross paced back and forth at the foot of Osborn's bed. All he could see through the curtains was a silhouette of Osborn propped up against the headboard, hunched over a laptop. The heart monitor was a steady source of irritation but it sounded more natural than usual, and Osborn's usually shaky breath was even and full. He wondered if Osborn had taken the serum already.

"I want the location, now," said Ross. "You said you had men on it."

"I also said that I would tell you once I had it." Osborn's nails clacked on the laptop keys. "There is a lot of information to sort through. You can't imagine the amount of useless crap Hammer spent his money on."

"I can imagine," Ross grumbled. He fingered the shape of the pistol under his jacket. "

"You underestimate him," said Osborn. "He's still useful, and everything he has is coming from us. He's not going to sell us out."

Ross scowled. "He's getting everything from _you_. But I am still in charge of this operation and I am not going to let the two of you squeeze me out."

"Maybe you just don't have enough to offer," Osborn grumbled. When Ross took a menacing step forward, however, he shrank back. "General, enough. Do you think I don't understand? I need that chamber more than you. But Hammer has all the cards, now. I'm not risking my life by alienating him."

Ross wanted to tell him it was too late for that, but it wouldn't have helped his position any. "He said he's going to kill Tony Stark."

"So? Let him have Stark. Or kill Stark yourself, if you're so impatient."

"Don't you get it?" Ross moved to the side of the bed, but Osborn drew the curtain before he could see anything. "That man is made entirely of bile," said Ross. "If he's not trying to kill Stark, he'll find someone else to blame and go after. It's never going to end and he's never going to give us what he promised, because he knows that once he does he has nothing left. And I'm sick of humoring him. I want that location, now!"

Ross snatched back the curtain and then recoiled. He had devoted some imagination to the thought of Osborn's decaying state, but he wasn't prepared for the creature hunching before him. Osborn was misshapen. His skin was thick and leathery, like animal hide, and mottled in sickly colors ranging from very pale to deep, bloody red. Knobs of bone stuck out along his shoulders and back, and his hairless skull was warped with wide, hooded eye sockets, a pointed jaw, and a sagging nose. He didn't look human--he _wasn't_ human--and it wasn't until Ross spied the unusual blue liquid in the IV that he understood.

"Connor's formula." He fingered the IV bag. "You said this formula wasn't stable."

Osborn blinked two sets of eyelids and tried to draw the sheets higher over his deformed body. "It's not," he said, his breath hissing on the 's.' "But a small, controlled dose, administered regularly, keeps my body in a constant state of regeneration. My internal organs would be failing without it."

Ross scraped his sleeve across his mouth. It occurred to him that he ought to have felt sympathy rather than disgust, but then he remembered why he had come, and why his soldiers were waiting in the living room. He stepped back and noticed a biohazard bag with a shoulder strap half shoved under the bed. Osborn shuddered when he reached for it.

"General," Osborn said. "Please don't."

Ross opened the bag and found two loaded hypodermic needles inside, cased in durable plastic for transport. He closed it again and put the strap over his shoulder. "Your scientists ran the serum," he said. "I'm sure they can run more. But I'm taking this with me." He put one hand on the headboard and loomed over Osborn. "Tell me where I 'm taking it."

Osborn stared back at him, his slit, yellow eyes narrowed in contempt-- _he would never get away with treating me like this if I wasn't dying_ , Ross imagined that glare said--but then he relented. A few taps on the laptop called up an address and map. Ross didn't believe it at first, but then it started to make sense. He even surrendered a bark of laughter. "That fucking Hammer," he said, shaking his head.

"Do what you want to Hammer," sad Osborn. "It doesn't matter to me now. But if you take that chamber away, you kill me, and the formula as well."

"I have the formula." Ross leaned back and hefted the bag. "There are other scientists that can analyze it, remake it. That's what Banner did in the first place, after all."

Osborn shoved the laptop away. "But _I_ still have the blood--Captain Rogers' blood. That serum is only a test--you'll need the blood to analyze if something goes wrong, and I have it."

"Not for long." Ross turned away.

"General--"

Ross waited for another string of faulty logic for him to reject, but Osborn abruptly quieted. He was staring at something through the picture windows that looked out over the city. His expression was so full of shock and anger that Ross couldn't help but follow the direction of his gaze to a spot of light moving toward them over the buildings. Something was trailing behind it.

Ross moved to the window and squinted. "What the hell is that...?"

***

Peter had traveled across the city in several different ways, and so far trailing off the back of a flying surfboard was coming in at the end of his list of favorites.

Hammer was weaving erratically between the buildings. Whether he had no idea what he was doing or was intentionally trying to throw his pursuer the effect was the same: Peter was whipped back and forth, his body aching with the pull of gravity. He came close to hitting buildings and billboards several times, but even when he tried to tuck his knees in it was too much effort to sustain for long. Tugging on the lines that connected him to the craft gave him only a minimal amount of control. All he could do was hold on.

When he spotted a news helicopter his first thought was, _I hope Aunt May's not watching this._ But then he realized the chopper wasn't following them, it was already circling a building. Amidst all the flailing and swerving, Peter caught a glimpse of a smoldering apartment building.

"I'm in the Upper East?" he asked.

"Yes," said Director Fury. "Is Hammer headed for his building?"

The glider banked, and Peter cursed as the snap of the line seemed to stab all through him to his toes. His shoulder ached with the memory of an older injury. "Doesn't look like it!" Peter tried again to draw his feet in, but another yank prevented him, this time from above. The glider was climbing.

A high rise was in front of them. Hammer was leaning back, pulling desperately at the craft as a wall of windows and balconies raced toward them. The pressure to the web was enormous, and Peter felt his stomach drop. Even if Hammer cleared the top, _he_ wouldn't. Without any other options he severed the lines, calling up all his spiderly instincts as the concrete filled his entire view. "This is gonna hurt," he said under his breath.

He hit the wall going God-only-knows how fast, and despite trying to cushion the impact with bent elbows and knees, it still shook him to the bone. He wasn't able to stick in time. He bounced back and fell, dizzy and disoriented, until a desperate shot of webbing caught and held. With one more terrible pendulum swing Peter was flung back up against the building, and he managed to grab hold of a balcony rail. The sudden halt was jarring but at least he had finally _stopped._ As he hung there, catching his breath, he heard a crash and a squeal of metal somewhere far above.

"I'm okay," he said involuntarily. "I think..."

A pair of hands wrapped around Peter's wrist, and a very enthusiastic voice said, "I've gotcha!"

Peter flinched and lifted his head. Standing on the balcony in a T-shirt and shorts, cigarette between his lips, was Flash Thompson.

Peter gaped behind his mask. "F--" He caught himself just in time. "Fuck."

Keeping hold of Peter's wrist, Flash offered his other hand. "Gimme your hand--I'll pull you up."

Peter didn't really need the help, but he let Flash drag him onto the balcony anyway. He leaned back against the railing and gave his arms a shake to get the tension out of them. "Thanks," he said awkwardly.

Flash was practically beaming. "Don't mention it."

"You had better not be making contact with a civilian," Fury said in his ear.

"What the hell was that thing?" asked Flash before Peter could decide if it was worth it to answer. "It sounded like it crashed. Was it a friendly?"

"No--no way that asshole's friendly." Peter hopped onto the rail and put a hand to his ear. "Sir, I think Hammer crashed on the roof."

"I've got your position," said Fury. Somewhere in the background Bruce was muttering. "That building... Looks like it belongs to Norman Osborn. Our bird's on its way to you, but it will take a while to get ground agents there. It's up to you, Parker."

Peter took a deep breath and nodded. "I know. I mean, affirmative."

"Who are you talking to?" Flash asked excitedly. "Is it the Avengers?"

"Uhh...listen." Peter turned to face him better. "I need you to do something for me."

"Of course." Flash took the cigarette out of his mouth. "Whatever you need."

It was kind of surreal seeing him so agreeable, and Peter had to shake himself to keep going. "Call building security. Tell them to lock up the doors. The man on the roof is armed and dangerous, and they can't let him leave, but they can't get in his way, either. I just need to know he's not going to run out the front before I can chase him down."

"Okay," said Flash, nodding along. "I'll tell them."

"And they should call people on the upper floors," Peter went on. "Tell them to lock their doors and stay inside. Seriously, this guy is freaking nuts. Everyone needs to steer clear as much as possible."

"Okay, I got it." Flash watched, fascinated, as Peter shot two webs to a balcony several floors above them and then pushed against the rail with his feet, drawing the lines taut. "Anything else?"

"Yeah." Peter looked at him. "Don't smoke, son. It doesn't make you look cool."

Flash blinked at him and then the cigarette in his hand. "Um...okay."

Peter hopped away from the building, letting the webs catapult him to the roof.

***

Hammer stumbled into the stairwell. The crash had left him bruised and scraped, and his left knee was throbbing something awful, but he clung to the wall and made his way down anyway. Everything was buzzing. He felt vibrations all through his weary joints and only bitter anger kept him going, down the stairs, into the hall outside Osborn's penthouse.

A man was outside the stairwell door, and in his haste Hammer plowed right into him. It was a soldier in an olive uniform. He grabbed Hammer by the shoulders but then paused, as if caught off guard by the amount of blood on Hammer's face and shirtfront. "Hey," he said. "Are you--"

Hammer punched him in the throat. It wasn't a particularly strong hit, but the man reeled enough that Hammer was able to grab the pistol out of his jacket. He didn't think, just shoved the muzzle into the soldier's chest and pulled the trigger. With a horrible gurgle the soldier dropped.

Hammer stared. The taste of blood was in all of his senses, and he scraped his forearm over his mouth, which didn't help. When his hands shook he blamed the adrenaline and kept moving forward, propelled by it, utterly out of his wits. Ahead of him, Osborn's door was opening. A few shots from the pistol urged whoever was inside to close it again, giving Hammer enough time to slip the second grenade from his pocket. He pulled the pin and flicked the lever and waited, not knowing if the door would open again. He felt the grenade hum in his fingers like a trembling fist, or was it just him? The seconds ticked by.

The door opened only a few inches, and even though it was the muzzle of a gun that greeted him, Hammer didn't retreat. He tossed the grenade through the opening and listened to the men inside shout and scramble for a brief second before it went off. The explosion wasn't nearly as loud as in the Oscorp building, muffled by the walls and without any metal to resound against, but the screams of the men almost made up for it. The door was blasted all the way open by the flying body of another soldier.

When the dust settled, Hammer strode forward. He stepped over the body in the hall and thought inexplicably of his father, and the pressure of a wide, rough hand on the back of his neck, like when good old dad had taken him shooting for the first time. The weight of the pistol in his hand must have reminded him, he thought, as he entered the penthouse. Even as a kid he had always been a good shot.

General Ross came down the hall. He had his gun out, but when he saw the state of the mangled living room and strewn, bloodied bodies, a look of shock came over him. He gaped at Hammer. "How the hell did you--"

Hammer already had his gun up, and he put two bullets in Ross' chest. He should have been able to relish it, but watching Ross rock and then stagger backwards, astonishment in his face, Hammer felt only a rush of uneasy mania. He stepped to the side so that Ross' shaky counter-fire pulled wide and then moved quickly forward, ripping the gun from Ross' hand. With a shove Ross fell into a hideous armchair.

"Oh, Thaddeus," Hammer murmured, careful not to get more blood on him as he wrestled the hazard bag off Ross' shoulder. "Look what you've made me do."

"Ham..." Ross pawed at him, reaching for Hammer's throat, but he only succeeded in smearing the blood already on his chin. His lips pulled back in a kind of sneer that Hammer had to give him credit for. "You son of..." He made that same horrible gurgling noise as blood seeped through his uniform.

Hammer shoved the hands off him and headed down the hall. Osborn's bedroom door was already open and he helped himself. "Hello, Norman."

"Justin?" Osborn sat up as Hammer rounded the bed, and when they were face to face they both recoiled. "My God, what happened to you?"

Hammer laughed. For some reason it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "I could ask you the same thing," he said, not that he needed to. Looking over the sick, reptilian mess that was Norman Osborn, it wasn't difficult to understand. "You shouldn't have done this, Norman." He raised the gun. "I was starting to think you _liked_ me."

"Wait." Osborn cowered back, though there was as much anger in his yellow eyes as fear. "Wait, I didn't sell you out. It was Ross--he brought soldiers--he's trying to cut us off, both of us. Whatever happened, it was him!"

Hammer considered for a moment and then shoved the pistol into his shoulder holster. Osborn started to relax until Hammer turned toward the medical cooler up against the wall. "Justin? What are you doing?"

Hammer opened the cooler and inside found a very impressive array of medicines, serums, and pill bottles. He whistled through the gaps where his teeth had been and fingered the different offerings until he found Conners' serum. He loaded a fresh syringe with it.

"Justin?"

"Yes, Norman?" Hammer returned to his bedside. With the syringe between his teeth he pulled one of the hypodermics out of the hazard bag.

Osborn shrank back again, eying his activities with heavy distrust and mounting anxiety. "What are you doing?"

Hammer held a syringe in each hand. "Science," he said. "Isn't that what _you_ do?"

"Wait." Osborn tried to back away, but the IV tubes pulled at his arms, and then Hammer was climbing onto the bed. "Wait--please--what are you doing?" His nails were long and jagged, drawing blood from Hammer's bare forearms as he struggled to fight back. "Get away from me!"

"You should have known better," said Hammer, "than to try and _take_ from me again." He pinned Osborn's chest with his knee and leaned forward, plunging both of the syringes into Osborn's neck.

***

Peter plowed through the stairwell door and immediately tripped on a body in the hall. Once he had his balance again, he turned and blanched at the sight of the dead soldier. "Hammer's armed again," he said, hurrying down the hall to the second body. The man sported terrible burns on his shoulders and back, but he was breathing shallowly. Peter pressed himself to the wall beside the broken doorway and lowered his voice. "There are soldiers here. One dead, one badly injured." He listened, and thought he heard movement inside, but a quick glance showed no Hammer. He crept inside.

The apartment was a mess. More soldiers had been felled, along with three men in dark suits. He couldn't tell immediately which were alive or dead, and his stomach clenched up against the base of his throat at the thought of checking them all. He gulped. "Director Fury, there are at least eight men down in here. Um, friendlies, I think. They need med evac ASAP."

"Talk normally, Parker," said Fury.

Peter gulped again. "Sorry." He could hear voices at the end of the hall, but before he could investigate his attention was drawn by a breathy sputter. An older man in a fancier uniform was slumped in a nearby armchair, blood flowing between the fingers he had pressed to his chest. His eyes were locked on Peter.

Peter hurried over to him, hesitating only a moment before he was able to reclaim his wits. "Sir?" He ripped open the front of the man's jacket and then the shirt underneath. "Hold on, okay? I'm here to help."

"Ha..." the man rasped, grabbing at Peter's elbow. "Ham..."

"Shh, I know, I know." He got his hand inside the man's uniform and applied pressure to the wound in the right side of his chest, just above his third rib. Feeling the blood pump against his palm filled him with untimely and unwanted memories. "Director, there's a man here, shot in the chest." He peeled back the other side of the man's jacket and realized that a second bullet had hit one of his many medals. Shards of brass were imbedded in his skin but the bullet itself hadn't penetrated. "I think he's high-ranking. He's..." Something in him clicked, and he looked to the man's face. "Are you General Ross?"

Ross nodded weakly, but when he tried to speak again, blood speckled his lips. "Shh, it's okay," said Peter, sweating inside his suit. "We're going to get you help."

"Peter," said Bruce. His voice sounded oddly flat and distant. "How is he?"

"Not good." _My arch-nemesis_ , he remembered Bruce saying, but he shook his head and tried not to think about it. "General Ross," he said, positioning himself. "This is going to feel weird, but it'll stop the bleeding, okay? It's worked on me before." He shifted his hand away from the gunshot wound and then covered it with a glob of webbing. Ross groaned, but Peter kept him from pawing at the unorthodox bandage until it had dried. "You're gonna be all right," he said because he didn't know what else to do. "Help is on the way."

"I'm sending a medical team in a chopper," said Fury, but Peter was distracted when he heard a shout from the far room. Someone cried out, and something crashed. "But it means our own won't be able to land on the building. Where is Hammer now?"

Peter leaned back, watching the far hall. He heard a rattle like shower curtain rings, and furniture being upended. On impulse he pushed the chair Ross was in up against the wall, as far out of the way as he could get it. "I think he's still here," he said, voice lowering to a whisper without realizing. At Oscorp he had rallied himself with the reminder that Hammer was only one man with a handgun; it wasn't much comfort, given the bodies strewn all around him, and even less so when the thrashing in the next room grew louder. "I'm going to try to get him with the webbing. I'll giftwrap him for you."

Someone raced down the hall. Peter crouched down and aimed both wrists at the doorway, and sure enough, Hammer ran through only a moment later. Immediately Peter shot and managed to catch Hammer's ankle. A quick pull of the line sent him crashing into a coffee table, and he yelped, bloodying his nose again on the glass.

"Fuck...!" Hammer rolled to the ground, though he did his best to protect the satchel hanging off one shoulder. "Jesus, you're annoying."

"I could--" Peter started to retort, but then something shattered spectacularly at the end of the hall, and he could hear a rush of outside air. An inhuman howl sent goose bumps up his arms. "What the hell is _that_?"

Whatever it was, it was pounding down the hall. Hammer scrambled to his feet. "You ought to be used to this sort of thing by now," he said as he made a run for the exit.

"Hey!" Peter got him in his sights again, but there wasn't any time to fire before the _thing_ was barreling in the room. Upright it would have stood eight feet tall at least, but it was hunched on four legs, naked, its textured hide red and blotchy and hanging. Bony protrusions decorated its spine, tail, long skull and pointed, reptilian snout. It was deformed, crooked. Its yellow eyes were glazed with beastly mindlessness and its breath hissed wetly from its drooling mouth. It wasn't like Dr. Connor's powerful, even enviable physique; it was twitchy and grotesque and desperate, like pure panic given form, and it was turning its sights on Peter.

Peter dodged just in time to avoid a gnarled hand full of talons. The penthouse was broad but not broad enough to be a battleground, and he had very little room to maneuver out of range of swipe after swipe. With shrill roars the red beast pursued him around the room, and when it almost trod on one of the groaning soldiers Peter barely managed to snag the man with his web and draw him out of the way. He had to get out of the room. The creature's thrashing tail came very close to smacking General Ross out of his chair and Peter knew that if he stayed it was only a matter of time before it killed one or all of them.

Peter dove into the hall and there found Hammer slipping into the elevator. Anger took over for fear and he shot Hammer square in the chest with his webbing. He pulled, but by then the elevator was closing and all he could do was drag Hammer up against the doors. Hammer smirked as he was able to pull the goo off, and the elevator closed him in.

"Hammer!" Peter ran for it, but then the beast crashed into the hall behind him, and its wide, clawed hand finally caught him around the waist. He struggled as he was lifted into the air and then smashed into the ground with an impact that made his brain rattle in his skull. For a moment everything went dark and quiet, but then a burst of static in his ear woke him. He was face down on the floor of the hall and the creature was moving away from him.

"Bruce...I'm okay." Peter found a wall next to him and used it to drag himself upright despite his ringing ears. He watched the creature snarl and wail as it pried open the doors to the elevator shaft. "Is this...Osborn's penthouse? Some kind of serum monster thing is going after Hammer." He bristled with anxious energy. "I think...it's Norman Osborn."

When he got no answer, he put his hand to his ear. "Bruce?" Still no response. The earpiece was dead.

Peter swore, more worried about Bruce on the other end than being cut off from his support. "You're the only one," he told himself as he ran to the elevator. Osborn had crawled into the shaft, only his knobby tail sticking out. "You've done this before. He can't be as strong as Dr. Connors--"

Osborn disappeared into the shaft, and Peter dived after him, careful to avoid the moving cables. Osborn had no such reservations. Spitting and growling, he yanked on the steel cables as he dropped onto the roof of the elevator. The clang of metal in the enclosed space made Peter's ears ring again. Osborn sank his claws into the fastenings, bit through bolts and ripped the cables free one by one.

Peter was awfully tempted to let Hammer drop, but only for a moment. "Hey!" he shouted, and he jumped, landing between Osborn's shoulder blades. He webbed Osborn's wrists and drew them away from the cables, but Osborn twisted, trying to use his tail to pry Peter off his shoulders. Peter managed to hold on until Osborn threw his back up against the wall. With all manner of metallic protrusions to be ground up against, Peter had no choice but to cut the lines and devote his strength to wriggling free.

He leapt to the other side of the shaft, and as the elevator continued to descend, he tried webbing Osborn from a distance. Howling angrily, Osborn twisted his arm around the strands and yanked, dragging him down onto the elevator roof with him. A shot of webbing to the face didn't deter him, and he swiped blindly, his claws catching in Peter's suit. The exoskeleton protected Peter for the most part, but as they grappled in the enclosed space, he felt the occasional cut whenever Osborn managed to get in the gaps. Peter rolled and dodged, webbing the sides of the shaft whenever he needed a quick escape, but Osborn just kept coming, senseless and enraged.

The elevator stopped, and Peter swore--if Hammer was getting off, he wouldn't be able to follow when he was wrapped up around a monster. But Osborn must have had the same thought--or as close to a "thought" as he could manage in his state--because he flung Peter aside and went back to attacking the cables. They snapped off one by one, and Peter had to flatten himself against the wall to avoid their deadly whiplash. Finally the last one was severed and the elevator dropped.

It didn't fall far before the emergency breaks kicked in. With a horrible squeal of metal the governor cable engaged the breaks and the cab slowed to a jerky halt. As Peter caught his breath, Osborn smashed in the elevator's roof access and reached one long arm inside. Peter heard shouting, and gunshots, and then a scream of pain.

Peter took a deep breath and shot at Osborn with the webbing again. Just as before Osborn tried to use it to yank Peter down, but by then Peter had already fastened it to the wall. He shot strand after strand, hooking Osborn to the maintenance ladder, the severed cables, the counterweight, anything that might hold him. Osborn thrashed madly, ripping the threads off as quickly as Peter could make them. "Don't stop," Peter whispered to himself as he worked, leaping out of the way when Osborn dived at him. He bounced from one wall to the next, careful to not get caught up in his own net. "Come on, Parker, this asshole killed your parents!"

Osborn snagged him by arm and dragged him again to the roof of the elevator with a painful impact. There was blood on his claws and his wide, open jaws reminded Peter of fighting Steve on the bridge. With one arm free he aimed his shooter and caught Osborn's tongue. He pulled just as Osborn lunged, diverting the bite and causing Osborn to chomp through his own muscle.

As Osborn screamed and cowered back, Peter resumed his webbing. Instead of trying to affix him to the walls he stuck Osborn to the elevator, giving him far less room to establish leverage. "Hammer!" he shouted as he shot again and again, trapping everything but Osborn's right arm to the roof. "If you're still alive down there, get under the opening!"

Peter wrapped a final strand around Osborn's wrist, tying the other end around the break assembly. Just as he expected, Osborn twisted his arm around the line and pulled. Peter retreated, clinging to the maintenance ladder where he would have a view of the roof access. A yank of Osborn's arm ripped the assembly free, and as the breaks disengaged Hammer appeared in the opening. Peter snagged him with a line, guiding him through the narrow hole as Osborn bellowed and the elevator plummeted.

Peter held his breath until he heard the crash. Metal screamed and smoke rose from the dark below. Even then he watched and waited for almost a full minute before he was satisfied that Osborn wasn't coming back up. Then Hammer began to cough and squirm. Peter let out a long sigh and tied the web to the wall. "Hang tight, Hammer," he muttered as he leapt to the nearest floor and pried the doors open.

His head was spinning, but he managed to wrestle Hammer out of the elevator shaft. There was a young couple in the hall that stared openly as Peter shoved his captive onto a waiting bench. "Now," said Peter, his breath still heaving. "Stay still, asshole."

"Okay," Hammer squeaked. He had both arms wrapped around his stomach, and only then did it occur to Peter that he'd held him that way ever since being pulled from the elevator. "Okay..." Dark blood was seeping down the front of his vest.

Peter stared. He remembered the blood on Osborn's claws. "You're injured?"

"You're observant," retorted Hammer, but his humor wasn't into it. He was pale and his eyes were wet with pained tears.

Peter reached for his arms. "Let me see."

Hammer drew back with a hiss. "I think," he said hoarsely, "if I let go, my guts are gonna fall out."

Peter clenched his teeth against a curse and glanced around. The couple was still watching. "Hey," he called, and they flinched. "Can you bring me a blanket, or a beach towel or something, if you have one?" The pair stuttered out an affirmative and disappeared around the corner.

Peter turned back to Hammer and did a quick search. "What happened to your gun?" he asked when he didn't find it.

"In the elevator."

"And the bag you had with you?"

"Same."

Peter didn't find any more weapons. He pushed carefully at Hammer's sides, which drew from the man a pained whimper. Bleeding, sweating, shivering--Hammer did not look good. Peter felt a swell of nauseous approval. "What was in it?" he asked, trying not to focus on Hammer's tight expression.

"How about you go down there," Hammer goaded, "and see for yourself?"

"How about I throw you down that elevator shaft so you can get it for me?" said Peter.

"I wish you would." Hammer let his head knock back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Better than going back."

Peter suppressed a shudder. At least sarcasm was still an easy escape. "If you're that desperate, you could have just stayed in the elevator. You didn't have to let me save you."

Hammer was quiet for a moment except for his hissing breath. "Oh. Guess I didn't think of that."

Peter shook his head, and when he spotted the couple returning, he waved them forward. He took the offered blanket. "Go stand against the wall," he instructed. "This man's dangerous."

"Ohh, yeah," groaned Hammer as the couple complied. "I'll bleed all over them."

Peter began stringing a line of webbing. "You're really insane, you know that?" he said. "Like, literally. You are crazy."

"Yeah. I know." Hammer opened his eyes to slits as Peter secured his arms in place across his stomach using the webbing. "But then, we all go a little crazy when something's taken from us. Don't we?"

"No," Peter said immediately, not looking up as he worked. "Not everyone is like you."

"Sure they are." Hammer sucked in a long breath through his teeth. "Look how angry Captain Rogers was that I took his little toy."

"That was because--"

"Look at you," Hammer talked over him. "I mean, really. Look at you." He licked blood from his upper lip. "Spandex-Man."

Peter grabbed Hammer by the back of the neck, leaning him forward enough that he could get the webbing around his back. "You're just jealous I look this good," he said, but he felt shaky having Hammer so close.

Hammer laughed, which led him to a weak, sputtering cough. "I'd bet anything," he went on, "that you had something taken from you."

Peter heart gave a heavy thump. He told himself not to listen, devoting all his attention to making sure Hammer's guts stayed on the inside despite an impulse to do the opposite.

"That's how it works, you know. Stark's got it all wrong." Even when Peter let go Hammer managed to stay leaning forward. "It's not what you own that defines who you are. It's what things can be taken. I tried to teach him that." His lips twitched in a grin. "But _you_ already get it, don't you?"

Peter tensed all over and tried so hard not to answer. It came out of him anyway. "People aren't things."

Hammer's grin faded as he watched Peter very closely. He licked his lips again. "Parents?"

Peter grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around Hammer's shoulders and back. His hands shook and he hated himself for it. "Don't talk to me."

Hammer collapsed back against the wall. His expression was solemn and thoughtful, not quite sympathetic but somehow close, and Peter's shoulders hitched. He didn't know what he'd do if Hammer offered condolences. Instead, Hammer said, "I guess that makes you Batman."

Peter let out of short, heavy breath. "Yeah," he said bitterly. "I'm Batman. And you're a joke."

He tied the blanket around Hammer's chest and tightened it with a sharp yank. He wanted it to hurt, but when Hammer convulsed beneath his hands, his voice sharp with agony, he felt inexplicably guilty. "Just...stay put," he said awkwardly, webbing Hammer's feet together just to be certain. "I'm going to make sure that lizard thing is really down." He glanced up and noticed more people had gathered in the hall. They were watching with wide, curious eyes, and at least two were snapping pictures. One of them was Flash.

"I told you to stay in your apartment," Peter admonished.

Flash trotted forward. "No you didn't. Do you need a hand?"

Peter sighed. "Keep an eye on him," he said, gesturing to Hammer. "Don't get too close, and if he tries anything, shout down to me. Okay?"

"Sure." Flash positioned himself across from Hammer and took another picture. As Peter jumped back into the elevator shaft he heard Flash say, "Want me to Tweet this for you, doucher?"

"Sure, kid," Hammer groaned. "Make sure it's a good one."

Peter tugged his phone out and dialed Bruce's number as he lowered himself down the floors. "Peter," Bruce said as soon as the call went through. "Where are you? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," said Peter. Bruises and claw marks were par for the course, after all. "I got Hammer. He's tied up on floor twenty-seven. I was attacked by some kind of mutant-monster--I don't think it's got any steam left, though."

"Always with the mutants," Fury grumbled. "Paramedics are on the roof. Is the penthouse secure?"

"It was when I left it." Peter spotted a mass of flesh below him. "But listen, Hammer took a handful of monster claws to the gut. He's hurt pretty bad. Can you get someone down to him?"

"He'll have to wait. Ross is priority."

"NYPD is gathering outside the building," said Bruce. "I'll tell them to send someone up for him."

"They might want to take the service elevator," Peter muttered. He stopped two floors up, watching the body below. It was moving, but not much. "Hold on. I'm going to check on Godzilla." He slipped the phone in the back of his costume and dropped to the bottom of the shaft.

Osborn was still monstrous, still bound to the crumpled elevator. His loose hide quivered violently when Peter touched it. "Mr. Osborn?" Peter crept toward his gnarled face, but was careful to stay out of striking range. "Is that you?"

The head turned, and a bloodshot eye glared up at him. "Hammer," he growled, shuddering again. It took him a lot of effort to get his reptilian lips around the words with a bleeding tongue. "P...Poinnd...fucking poisoned...me..."

"Guess you wouldn't have done this to yourself," Peter said absently. With a deep breath to steel himself he leapt down and began winding more of his webbing around Osborn's clawed hand. "This is for your own good," he said. "SHIELD is on its way, so don't try to fight." Osborn obediently curled his fingers in so Peter could fasten them claws-in. He did the same for his other hand and both feet, then tied his tail to his leg just to be sure.

When he crawled back to Osborn's face, something sick and angry bubbled in his stomach. He tried to swallow it down. "You _are_ Norman Osborn, aren't you?" he asked quietly. He could hear people shouting above them, trying to pry the doors from the lobby open; he didn't have much time before they were interrupted. "Aren't you?"

Osborn shivered. He was panting, and his red skin looked a shade paler than before. "Yes," he hissed. "I didn't... this was... Hammer...Hammer." His eyes rolled in his head. "I'm Norman Osborn. Where's Harry? Where is Harry?"

"He really did a number on you." Peter leaned closer, one hand poised and ready to fire in case Osborn tried anything. He licked his lips. "You didn't do this to yourself, but you were a part of Hammer's plan, weren't you? You _let_ him into Oscorp. You were in this together."

"Yes. No--Hammer." Osborn sneered as he made a visible effort to get his ravaged wits back under control. "No, Hammer and Ross. Tricked me. Used me. Hammer..."

"And you've done worse before now, haven't you?" Peter persisted. "You've killed people, haven't you?" His hand shook as he grabbed Osborn's jaw, trying to hold him still. "You ugly bastard, did you--"

"Spider-Man," Fury said loudly, his voice just audible from beneath Peter's costume. "Don't say any more."

Peter grimaced and almost asked anyway. He wasn't sure he would ever get another chance, and he wanted to hear it from Osborn's lips, lizard or not. His parents' names were in his mouth, but then Bruce said, "It's okay. It's over. There'll be other chances."

Peter hissed a curse under his breath and backed off just as the lobby doors opened above him. "Behave," he told Osborn sharply, and then he fired his webbing above him, pulling himself up the shaft and out of sight. He needed a moment to calm his breathing before he pulled the phone out again.

"SWAT's here," he said, watching as men in helmets poked their heads through the open door. "Osborn's pretty much secure for now. He's not exactly in his right mind, but I think that's Hammer's fault. You should tell the cops there's something in the elevator--something Hammer had on him. It's..." He faltered as frustration and exhaustion caught up to him. He had to twist his arm around the ladder rungs to stay on it. "I didn't see what, but...fuck." He shook his head. "Maybe I can--"

"Peter," said Bruce, and his voice brought everything back into focus. "It's over. Our people have General Ross and paramedics are on their way up to Hammer. You did good."

Peter sagged against the ladder. His hands trembled, but a quick shake got the worst of it out. "Okay," he said. He swallowed. "And Cap?"

"He's fine. He and Agent Romanoff are finishing up at Oscorp. It's over, for now." Bruce let out a long sigh. "Please, come on home."

Emotion burned at the back of Peter's throat as he nodded. "Okay." He started to climb, thinking he could get out of the building through Flash's apartment. He suddenly didn't feel like crossing paths with Fury's agents above or NYPD below. "Okay, I'm on my way. My earpiece is broken so I'm just going to hang up. I'll call back if anything comes up."

"All right." There was a pause, and then Bruce said, "Swing safely, Peter."

"I will." Peter hung up and tucked the phone away. "Keep moving," he murmured to himself as he ascended. "You did it. It's over. But don't stop." He knew that if he took too long, his legs would turn to jelly. He held Bruce's words of praise close, letting them keep him together as he climbed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point it might be a good idea to refresh your memory of this fic's tags, just in case.

Bruce sat back, letting Fury handle the communication between the two scenes. Seven of Hammer's speculated nine men had been taken into custody, with Natasha and a group of agents searching the building for the remaining. They had been fairly clever, moving up the building in groups of two to disguise their numbers, cutting the cameras as they ascended to hide that some were doubling back. Background checks of the captured mercenaries weren't turning up results. Meanwhile, another group of agents were trying to secure the scene at Osborn's residence. General Ross and Justin Hammer were being rushed to medical care while SHIELD secured a monstrous Norman Osborn for transportation to one of their own facilities.

Agent Han sent them a photo of the twisted red lizard. "God only knows what Hammer did to him," Fury grumbled. "How glad am I that we snatched Dr. Connors out from under the FBI. Maybe he can help us sort the bastard out."

Bruce didn't answer. He watched a small window in the corner of the display that was monitoring General Ross' progress: at the last report he had safely arrived at the hospital and would soon be in surgery. His eyelids drooped as he imagined the phone calls being made to emergency contacts and next of kin. Somewhere in West Virginia, Betty was waking up to a ring on the bedside table. She'd probably be on a plane within an hour or two. It was her father and she'd come.

"Of course, this doesn't mean it's over," said Fury, enlarging and rearranging various displays. "The damage they did to Stark isn't going away overnight. And Rogers' blood is still stored somewhere in that building, I'm sure. They've only had access to it for, what, seventy-two hours? Is that long enough for them to do anything with it?"

"It depends on what else they have," said Bruce without giving it much thought.

"I'm sure Hammer was smart enough to flush the research before his little escape plan." He sighed. "What a mess. But at least we're looking at clean-up and not defense." He turned to look at Bruce. "The kid did all right."

Bruce finally lifted his eyes. "You knew he'd go, didn't you?" he asked quietly. "You were encouraging him."

"Should I not?" Fury raised an eyebrow. "It was _you_ offering him up for the team not that long ago, if I recall correctly."

Bruce did his best not to make a face, but he wasn't terribly successful. "It was."

"You having second thoughts?"

"Maybe." Bruce rubbed his eyes, and he tried several times to think of something to say, but it was no use. "I need some air," he said as he pushed to his feet. "If you still want to have a conversation, can it be later?"

Fury watched him head for the exit. "I think we're done here," he said. "For now."

Bruce went to the penthouse. He was hoping Tony would be out of his various interrogations by then--listening to Tony ramble always helped settle him somehow--but only Pepper was there, pouring herself a drink at the bar. When she spotted him she offered the glass. "You look like you need this more than I do," she said with a little smile.

Bruce smiled back, but he declined. The news was still on the television behind him, and he didn't want to stick around long enough to overhear anything. "I just need a breather," he said. "Let me know if Tony breaks out, okay?"

With Fury's helicopter still at the scene, the pad was clear, and Bruce was able to stride out to the center and take in a deep breath of cool air. Usually it helped, but his mind was too full. He kept thinking about Betty rushing into her clothes, ordering a plane ticket over the phone. He thought about Peter fighting for his life against madmen with guns and talons. He thought about Betty's hair in her face and Peter's breath hitching between swings. They were both coming. His logical brain told him there wasn't any reason to be worried; Betty was hours away. She wouldn't come to the tower. She didn't even know he was in the city. Yet. He would tell her--her father was fighting for his life, he would have to see her--but it could be when he was ready and on his terms. She didn't have to know anything about Peter. They weren't going to meet.

He kept telling himself those things, but he still ended up sitting down in the center of the balcony, ankles drawn in, eyes closed as he remembered his breathing exercises. He was angry, but not at anyone or anything he could point to--or maybe it was so many things they were blurring together. Bitterness vibrated in his bones. He had had enough and he wanted to shed his skin and run away somewhere. Only the thought of Peter kept him grounded. He would wait for Peter, and once he was sure that Peter was all right, he'd take his sedatives and let Fury and the rest handle everything else. They didn't need his help anymore anyway, if they ever did.

Bruce closed his eyes and thought about the syringe in his room. It was only one flight of stairs away, tucked in his bag. He looked forward to sleeping too deep for dreams, as soon as he knew Peter was okay.

Bruce didn't know how long he was out there, but he was covered in goose bumps by the time Pepper touched his shoulder. Her eyes were full of concern. "Bruce."

"I'm okay," Bruce said automatically. "I'm just waiting for Peter."

Pepper shook her head slightly. "Steve is back."

Bruce glanced over his shoulder and spotted Steve through the glass doors, already talking heatedly with Tony. "Great," he muttered. It was the last thing he needed, but he let Pepper draw him to his feet.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about," Steve was saying, and Bruce wondered if there was any way he could get around him to the elevator without being stopped. "I can't believe that you're okay with it."

"I'm not 'okay' with it," Tony retorted. Bruce told himself they could be talking about anything, but then Tony spotted him entering, and the flicker of guilt across his face gave everything away. "But like I said it isn't our business."

"I'm not buying that anymore. He's putting lives in jeopardy, and not just..." Steve noticed Bruce trying to make his exit and intercepted. "Bruce, we need to--"

"Steve, not now," said Bruce, but when Steve moved in front of him, he had to stop. His heart was already climbing into his ears and he couldn't risk Steve touching him.

"No, we _are_ talking about this now," said Steve. "I told Peter not to come, and you let him anyway. And I get it: his has history with Oscorp. But you both _lied_ to me in the middle of a mission and for what?"

Bruce shoved his hands into his pockets. Any other night he might have leaned back, shied away, placated. Steve was keyed up from the fight, blood on his uniform--he was going to say his piece and Bruce had no hope of convincing him of anything. But he didn't back down. He stared straight back at Steve, ignoring heat passing under his skin. "I was watching, you know," he said. "He saved your life and he got us Hammer."

"By almost getting himself killed hanging off the back of a rocket." Steve took a step forward, and Bruce must have tensed visibly, because Tony and Pepper moved closer together. "I told you the last time that that luck of his was going to run out. Maybe it didn't happen tonight, but it's going to, and with you encouraging him it's only going to happen faster."

"I didn't encourage him to go," Bruce protested. "It was Tony who gave him the virus."

Tony stepped forward. He didn't look any more prepared than Bruce for what was going on but he did try. "Rogers, he's right. Be mad at me if you want, I was the--"

"I'll deal with you in a minute," Steve snapped, and Bruce felt his hackles rising all over again. "I'm talking to Bruce." He fixed Bruce with a heavy gaze, the kind of focused disappointment that could make someone hate themselves. It was a terrible thing to disappoint Captain America. "Do you not understand what it means when I have soldiers within my responsibility I don't even know about? Don't you ever put me in that position again."

"He's not your responsibility."

"When he's in the middle of my firefight, _yes_ , he is."

"Look, we both know what this is really about," Bruce said. "So why don't you just spit it out already."

Steve's eyes narrowed, and he lowered his voice, though clearly not out of any sympathy for Bruce's unsteady state. "I know you've been fooling around with him and I don't like it," he said.

"Rogers," Tony tried again to intervene, "this really isn't the--"

"Stay out of it," Bruce snapped that time, but watching Tony bite his tongue didn't make him feel any better. He turned back to Steve. "I don't have to justify myself to you, or anyone."

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "So you admit it."

"We have a relationship." It was surreal, saying it out loud. He had to fight very hard not to look at Tony or Pepper, fearing what reaction he would have to whatever faces they were making. "But it has nothing to do with him being Spider-Man or what happened tonight."

Steve was already shaking his head. "Bruce, he's still a kid. Everything we say and do has an impact on him. Of course he's going to find it that much easier to fly out of buildings when someone he's involved with is in his ear telling him it's a good idea."

"I already told you that wasn't my idea. And you're not giving him enough credit. He..."

The stairwell door opened, and Fury emerged. Bruce immediately began to sweat. It was one thing to have Steve breathing down his neck, but Fury was another beast entirely. The room buzzed around him and he needed to get the hell out.

"I know how he can be," Steve said, but his voice was quickly becoming muddled. "He's young and stubborn, but I can see why you like him." Fury was heading toward them. "But still, Bruce. He's seventeen."

Bruce couldn't even correct him. He stared hard into Steve's face. "You need to stop talking to me."

Tony whispered something in Pepper's ear, and she slipped away to the nearest JARVIS panel. Knowing what she was up to made Bruce's jaws ache. But Fury was still coming closer and Steve was still talking. "This isn't just about the two of you," said Steve. "It affects all of us."

"I get it." Bruce could feel his fingernails digging rivets in his palms. "Be as concerned as you need to be, but you need to get out of my way."

Steve slowly uncrossed his arms. "Or what?"

"You know what."

Fury circled around them, but he must have caught a warning look from Tony, because he didn't interrupt. "You can't play that card on me, Bruce," Steve was saying. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Yes you are," Bruce retorted, and the look that came over Steve's face was so far from anything he could describe. "I know you are." He took a step forward. "So get the hell out of my way before I prove it."

He didn't want Steve to back down. He wanted one more retort, a look or a push that would give him all the reason he needed. He already felt as if his skin were ready to peel away; his hands itched, ready to do the job themselves. He was tired of living in helplessness and fear, of side-eyes and _are you okay?_ and the uneasy disappointment in Steve's face. With just one more excuse he could tear it all down. The tower he had been hiding in, the Oscorp building with its poisons, Hammer and Ross anything else that could be thrown at him--he wanted all of it as ashes in his wake. If the world was so eager to be against him, he was going to make it regret it.

But then Steve stepped aside and looked away. It wasn't any kind of victory to be proud of, and it only made Bruce angrier, made his stomach rot and his skin boil. The others were watching them, taut and wary, and for a moment Bruce thought, how much would it take? How much would he have to destroy to get the wrath out of his blood? Maybe there would never be enough. There weren't enough things in the world worth breaking to expel how much hate he had for himself then.

Bruce left. He managed to stalk from the penthouse at a reasonable pace, but as soon as he reached the stairwell he was running, fleeing down the steps two and three at a time. He burst into his apartment and ripped his sleeve open rather than fumble with rolling it. The syringe was in his bag. He told himself over and over, _it's right there, just take it_ , but his hands were shaking, spilling his medical supplies on the floor. Finally he had the sedative, and he stood in front of the computer monitor in his bedroom, trying to use its light to find a vein. He needed a direct shot or it wasn't going to help.

There was a knock on the window, and Bruce started, the syringe clattering onto the desk. He turned, and when he saw Peter clinging to the glass he wasn't sure if he would implode or faint. Somehow, his body propelled him forward, and he let Peter in.

"Peter." Bruce stood back as Peter tumbled into the room. "How did you--"

"I saw the SHIELD car pull up," Peter explained. "I didn't want to come through the penthouse if the Captain was back."

"He's..." Bruce looked over his shoulder for the sedative. The room was spinning and he felt breathless, even though he knew he was breathing full and heavy. "Are _you_ all right?"

Peter pulled his mask off and let it drop. He was barely upright before he was throwing his arms around Bruce's shoulders, wrapping him up. He found Bruce's mouth with his in a long kiss that threatened Bruce's knees.

Peter leaned into him, but Bruce wasn't ready for the weight; he staggered into the desk, his arms around Peter's back, nothing making sense. A few seconds later it didn't matter. Peter was against his body, warm and safe and wanting him.

"Sorry," said Peter, gripping the back of Bruce's neck. "Sorry."

"Peter..." Bruce ran his hands over the suit. They felt huge and overly sensitive to him, and he could easily pick out the many tiny holes in the spandex, flecks of blood sticking to his fingers. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Peter let out a long sigh, his breath hot across Bruce's already flushed cheeks. "Sorry. I just really need to kiss you right now."

Bruce's brow furrowed, but when Peter's lips skated over his, he couldn't bring himself to refuse. He granted every kiss that Peter begged from him, drawing him closer and tighter until he was afraid he might hurt him. He understood; Peter was tired and hurting and probably confused, and Bruce was a pleasant distraction. Teenagers. Bruce remembered those days when sex fixed everything for a while.

He tried to let it be that simple. He stroked up and down Peter's body, fingertips dancing along the suit's playful ridges. He sucked tiny sounds of pleasure from Peter's soft, eager mouth. He tried not to think about anything else, but there were voices at the back of his mind, hissing and disapproving. They didn't want him to have this. They were trying to take Peter from him.

Bruce growled low in his throat, and his hands clenched possessively. Peter melted against him. That kind of reinforcement was dangerous. He was used to Peter's raw enthusiasm, and it was strange and exhilarating to feel him wilt, young and needy in his arms. Before he could stop to think he was turning them around, pushing Peter up on the desk. Peter's strong thighs quivering around his waist felt so good it made him _furious_ to think of living the rest of his life without them.

Peter shifted on the desk, and the syringe rattled quietly as it rolled to rest against the keyboard. He tried to crane his neck to see. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Bruce said quickly, drawing him back. "Nothing..."

It didn't take much to convince him. Peter's fingers twisted in Bruce's hair as they kissed until they were panting. "I did good, didn't I?" he breathed. "I got the son of a bitch."

"You did," Bruce readily agreed. He massaged Peter's thighs, thrilling in the flex of muscle beneath his hands. When he followed the inside seam of the costume up to Peter's groin, he fell in love all over again with that tiny intake of breath, just like when he was swinging. He traced the shape of Peter's cock with this thumbs. "You were so good, Peter," he murmured, and he simultaneously hated himself and didn't care that Steve might have been right. He wanted to have an effect on Peter. He wanted so desperately to matter to him. "I'm so proud of you."

The words seemed to do more good than his hands ever could. Peter moaned under his breath as he dissolved into bliss, inviting every strong touch and stronger kiss. He was like putty beneath Bruce's increasingly feverish attentions, until he was gasping, clutching Bruce's shoulders as Bruce sucked spots on his throat.

"Hey," he whispered when he had the breath for it. "Bruce." He leaned in to Bruce's ear. "Can I suck your dick?"

Bruce's shoulders hitched as heat passed all through him, settling low in his abdomen. "What?"

"Can I?" Peter arched his back, and Bruce wished he could watch them from somewhere outside himself, because he _knew_ how beautiful Peter looked then. "I just want to try it." His voice lowered to a blushing giggle. "I've been practicing."

Thunder rippled up and down Bruce's spine, and his own voice pitched into a jealous growl. Muscles tightened like ropes under his skin. " _Practicing_?"

"Not on dicks." Peter laughed in embarrassment and turned his face against Bruce's neck. "On...you know," he said secretively. "Stuff. Popsicles, bananas..."

Bruce swallowed. His imagination flared to life with guilty clarity, and as Peter pressed little kisses to his throat he almost couldn't breathe. He needed to stop. His pulse was an aching staccato beneath Peter's lips and his nerves frayed bare. He tried to form words, but then Peter's long fingers crept south, edging closer, over his belt, playing with his fly--

"Okay." Bruce gulped down much needed air and leaned back so that Peter could reach him more easily. He was out of his mind but it didn't matter. "Okay."

Peter shifted to the edge of the desk, but he went for Bruce's shirt first, hastily untucking it. When he tried to undo the buttons his webbed gloves gave him trouble, and impatiently Bruce yanked it open. Peter laughed at the skittering buttons. "I'll be careful," he promised as if Bruce still needed convincing. He ran his hands over Bruce's chest before reaching again for his pants. "I'll go slow."

"Don't go slow," said Bruce, helping him with the buckle and button.

Peter's tongue darted out as he undid the zipper himself. With a happy murmur he slipped his hand into Bruce's boxers and gave his cock a slow, teasing squeeze. Bruce hissed, but he pulled the hand out quickly so he could step back, drawing Peter off the desk and toward the bed.

He thought briefly that he ought to lock the door, or at least instruct JARVIS to not let anyone in, but...it didn't matter. Everyone knew. He wanted them to know.

Peter tugged at his pants. He was blushing and vibrant, and Bruce almost expected him to glow in the mostly-dark room. Once Bruce had dropped onto the edge of the mattress Peter finally yanked his pants all the way off, then his shirt just for good measure. Licking his lips, he reached for the boxers. One more kiss gave him all the courage he needed, and he removed them.

Bruce may not have been terribly confident about his body, but the way Peter looked at him then stole all doubts and insecurities from his brain; Peter's eyes were wide, his lips twitching as he lowered himself to his knees between Bruce's legs. He was the very picture of youthful enthusiasm, and unlike the night before--had it only been that short while ago?--he showed no hesitation in wrapping his fingers around Bruce's cock.

"You're pretty thick when you're hard," said Peter, and hearing him talk like that made Bruce want to bend steel with his teeth. The approving hum that came with it was even worse.

"You don't..." Bruce started to say, but by then Peter was already leaning down. The drag of his tongue over the head of Bruce's cock put stars in his eyes. His every attempt to speak failed him and he could only watch, breath held and palms sweating, as Peter licked and lipped experimentally at his throbbing erection.

As promised, Peter started slow. His fingers worked gently up and down, the ripples in the suit setting off firecrackers of pleasure across Bruce's tender skin. He rolled his lips over his teeth and sucked just Bruce's head into his mouth, knowing his limits, his tongue flickering. Bruce had to grip the sheets tight to help maintain his self-control. He wanted nothing more than to grab Peter and pull him closer, to feel slick heat envelop him. His body remembered being denied just that morning and he ached to forgo all restraint, to have Peter writhing and moaning on his cock, _it's so tight_ , helplessly in need of him.

Bruce's fingers were in Peter's hair before he realized he'd moved. He gripped Peter's scalp tight and watched the tendons flex across his forearm. Peter moaned, low and eager, his hand tightening. After another long suck he let Bruce's cock slip from his mouth and smacked his lips.

"I love it when you do that," he murmured, staring up at Bruce through his lashes.

"What?" Bruce said immediately. He shivered with anticipation of Peter's answer, needing to know anything that brought him pleasure.

Peter blushed darker. His shy smile was sin itself. "When you pull my hair."

Bruce's shiver became a tremor. He grabbed Peter's upper arm and hoisted him up, his other hand still tight in Peter's hair as he sought a breath-stealing kiss. "Come here," he said, his voice ragged, and scooted back onto the bed. "Come on."

Peter laughed breathlessly as he climbed onto the mattress with him. "I wasn't finished." He forgot his protests when Bruce pushed him onto his back. His knees parted and his back arched, every inch of him welcoming. Bruce fell over him like a man starved. He pulled Peter's head back, exposing the soft, smooth flesh of his throat to his hungry mouth. He almost didn't feel human, wrapped up in Peter's textured skin, delighting in its friction against his naked body. When he realized how long he had been nursing the fantasy of Peter's sweat-moistened suit beneath him, he seethed with frustration. He should have never waited. Peter was right--Peter was always right, about everything. They needed each other, deserved each other. And anyone who felt differently could go to hell as far as he was concerned.

Peter churned beneath him, his moans drifting occasionally into happy laughter. He rubbed as much of himself against Bruce as he could, knowing how much it excited him. It made Bruce angry to think that Peter could play him so well, when he was still learning. He should have been the one in control, giving Peter all the ecstasy he deserved. He should have been a lot of things, and that made him angry, too. He kissed Peter until his lips felt bruised, senseless, wanting, his id crashing against his foundations. All he was was desire. All he needed was release.

"Bruce," Peter whispered, and his voice was full of awe. It tore the world down.

***

Peter was grateful when Bruce lowered his mouth again to his throat. It gave him the chance to catch his breath, even if it was with deep gasps interrupted by giggles. Bruce was in rare form and he loved every second of it. There was no way anyone could have dwelled on bleeding jerk-offs and lizard men when Bruce was kissing a sloppy line down his chest.

"Bruce," Peter whispered again, playing with Bruce's hair as he worked his way lower. He arched his back and had to spread his knees wider as Bruce settled more and more of his weight across Peter's body. "Fuck, you feel good." He let his head fall back against the pillows and closed his eyes, reveling. "Please don't stop."

Bruce grumbled something, and Peter smiled at the reverberations echoing into his skin. He tensed as Bruce moved lower still, until he could feel the warm, wet pressure of Bruce's mouth against his cock. His hips stuttered hopefully. He considered asking if he could take the suit off, but then Bruce's hands were roaming over his stomach and thighs, and knowing how much it turned Bruce on turned _him_ on even more.

Bruce sucked him off through the suit. The heat and the pressure transferred easily and Peter thrust against his mouth, groaning as Bruce's broad tongue traced him balls to tip. "Oh God," he mumbled happily. When Bruce pinned his thighs flush to the mattress he squirmed, wanting to move, but the frustration was its own aphrodisiac and he groaned louder to show how much he loved it. "Oh fuck, Bruce, we're never going slow again."

Bruce didn't reply except to kiss the inside of his thigh. But he didn't stop there. He ran his tongue all along Peter's groin, down almost to his knee, his saliva soaking into the fabric. Peter tingled with the unusual sensation, and even more so when Bruce trailed tantalizingly over his balls and then up the other side. A gentle scrape of his teeth took Peter's breath away. Arousal turned Peter's brain to mud, but when he felt Bruce's strong fingers kneading into his ass, it finally occurred to him, _How is he doing that when I still can't move my legs?_

Peter opened his eyes. As he stared at the ceiling, puzzled and pleasure-fevered, he realized suddenly how broad and heavy Bruce felt between his legs. His back shifted against the mattress, sliding down as if on a gentle incline, and it occurred to him that the sound of metal in the room was the bedframe contorting out of shape. When Bruce sealed his mouth over Peter's cock it felt _amazing_ and threatened to scatter his wits again, but Peter forced himself to concentrate. He reached down, taking a fistful of Bruce's hair. His head was wide and hot to the touch, hair matted with sweat, and when Peter pulled, the groan that emptied out of Bruce wasn't like him at all.

Peter looked down, and even from the poor angle he could clearly see the massive span of Bruce's hunched shoulders, their unnaturally green color just barely distinguishable in the light off the computer screen. He froze. "Oh, _shit_."

Hulk lifted his head. His green eyes gleamed, latching onto Peter's with a long, measuring look. If he was waiting for something, Peter was too shocked to give it to him, and then he simply lowered his head again to press a long, sucking kiss to the stretch of muscle below Peter's navel. Peter trembled beneath him and couldn't breathe. It wasn't until Hulk's long tongue licked a stripe down his taint that he stuttered back to life with a moan. His mind raced ahead of his heart, and when he turned his head, he spotted the syringe on the desk. Only then was he able to make sense of what he'd seen Bruce doing before he tapped on the glass.

"Oh fuck." Peter strained against the mattress; Hulk was holding his thighs apart with just his thumbs, using extraordinary care given his size--even if he didn't seem quite as enormous as Peter remembered him last--but he didn't know what would happen if he tried to wriggle free. Bruce hadn't prepared him for this. They barely talked about the Hulk at all.

"Fuck, fuck," Peter hissed. "Fu...ahh!" He was cut off by a startled gasp when Hulk's hand moved to his chest. It was heavy and hot and Peter went still again. But then it slid back and forth, strong because it couldn't be anything else but still somehow gentle, massaging and soothing. Peter had never felt anything so all-enveloping, and when just one finger carefully brushed his jaw he understood that Hulk was trying to calm him down.

"Fuck," he said again, but then he took a deep breath and touched the back of Hulk's palm. "I'm okay."

Hulk glanced up again, and seeming to have gotten the reassurance he was looking for, he let out a long sigh. His breath steamed over the suit and then he went back to licking Peter's thighs. Peter had to remind himself to keep breathing as he watched Hulk's head sway back and forth. When Hulk let go of Peter's legs to instead brace his hands on the mattress, even the supposedly incorruptible memory foam refused to retake its shape. It was surreal, incomprehensible. Peter stared and was surprised when his body responded without him, trying to arch against Hulk's wide, beautiful mouth.

Hulk gave his groin one last, lingering sweep of tongue. When he straightened up he looked like a monolith rising from the earth, huge and commanding, sweat trickling down his rough skin. Peter was speechless at the sight. He had seen Hulk at work, in the heat of battle with all his strength utilized, but he had never had the chance to appreciate him up close in such a calm, intimate way. His physique was sculpted to the point of absurdity, each muscle on prominent display. He was power itself, and watching his chest heave, his bright eyes dilated with arousal, would have stirred anyone to admiration.

Peter licked his lips. He stared into Hulk's face, still recognizably Bruce, and wanted to say something. But the words never came, because then he glanced down, and his mouth went dry all over again. All he could manage was a tiny, "Whoa."

Hulk licked his own lips, smacking loudly in the otherwise quiet room. He gave his cock one long stroke of his fist and let it fall between Peter's thighs; it was as long and thick as Peter's forearm, flushed and hard and almost thrumming. Peter couldn't take his eyes off it. His own erection ached jealously, and with a strained whimper he lifted his hips, rubbing experimentally against the huge organ. He thought he might faint.

"Thick," Hulk slurred proudly.

Peter huffed, startled by Hulk's voice and his choice of words. "Yeah," he said dumbly. His eyelids fluttered as he humped the underside of Hulk's cock. "Yeah, God, you're so...oh my God." He tried to draw his knees up so he could wrap his thighs around it.

Hulk rolled his shoulders back and nudged his hips forward. Peter whimpered again as Hulk's balls pressed up against his ass, and he had the fleeting thought of, _No way, no fucking way, it'll kill me_. A tremor that was fright more than excitement coursed through him, but then Hulk was urging Peter to straighten his legs up against his chest. With just two fingers he drew Peter's ankles together under his chin. It formed a tight, fleshy V of Peter's thighs, slick saliva coating the ridges in the spandex.

It had to be so wrong, Peter thought. He stared up at his lover, a beast with nostrils flared and jaws working in anticipation. It was wrong and he should have tried to stop--it was Bruce, but it also wasn't, and he already knew there would be hell to pay. All those thoughts scattered to the wind when Hulk began to fuck his thighs.

Hulk was so careful, one hand circling under Peter's lower back to keep him steady as he rocked back and forth. Peter could feel his restraint, and he gasped and moaned, totally absorbed in the sensation of Hulk's massive cock sliding over his own. He reached behind him, taking hold of edge of the mattress even though it offered little stability. He arched his back and tightened his thighs, swelling with pleasure when Hulk growled approvingly. He felt as if he was being made love to by a god. The head of Hulk's cock scraped over his stomach, and if he closed his eyes he could have easily imagined that it was inside him, thick and fulfilling and impossibly deep; but he didn't want to close his eyes. He watched Hulk's jaw drop in silent outcries, watched his chest expand with each desperate breath of air. He watched the handsome muscles clenching up and down Hulk's abdomen. He watched the slight upturn in the corners of Hulk's lips and went a little bit crazy, drunk on the carnal euphoria as Hulk pumped into him.

"Oh _fuck_ , Bruce," he groaned until his voice was hoarse. "Don't stop--"

Hulk snarled and sped up. His fingers dug into Peter's hips, doubtlessly leaving bruises, but it still felt so good and Peter didn't care. He didn't care about anything else but the heat tumbling over and over inside him, drawing him tighter around Hulk's cock, until his entire body was teetering and electric. His voice spilled from him in ragged ecstasy and he came, burst after burst in the confines of the suit.

But Hulk didn't stop. He even thrust harder, making Peter shudder and groan with every stroke to his overly sensitive nerves. Hulk's breath heaved and his eyes rolled back, and just when Peter thought any more would be torture, his huge frame was rocked with a shuddering orgasm. Over and over he found release, painting Peter's stomach and chest with his seed, until he was panting, leaning back on his haunches, finished.

Peter couldn't move and didn't try. As the world slowed down his body ached with over-exertion, and it was a fight to get it the air it needed. With eyes closed he let his legs fall open again and tried not to pass out. It was absolutely insane. He was too weak to laugh, but he smiled, exhausted.

Hulk leaned over him. He boxed Peter in with his long arms and lowered his head, lapping up the mess he'd made. Peter grimaced and pushed at his scalp. "Jesus, Bruce," he muttered. "Give me a minute."

Hulk didn't respond; he sucked at Peter's chest, a low rumble in his throat. His shoulders hunched and he pushed Peter deeper into the mattress with the weight of his body. Though Peter still had plenty of room, the sudden pressure flicked a warning switch at the back of his mind.

"Hey." Peter shoved at him again. When Hulk only growled possessively in response, Peter tugged at his hair. "Bruce, come on."

Hulk tilted his head, but it was only to drag his tongue up to Peter's neck. Peter felt a glance of teeth over his collar bone and instinct began to kick in. It was getting harder to breathe. "Bruce, wait," he said, but Hulk was so wide that he couldn't get his arms between them. His legs were pinned beneath Hulk's stomach, useless. He wasn't really afraid that Hulk would hurt him, but his large body was tense, as if just heating up rather than cooling down. His mouth was still hungry and eager and he was drawing in around Peter, protective but smothering.

And a terrible thought came over Peter's fatigue-addled brain: maybe it wasn't really Bruce. If Bruce didn't even remember what happened as the Hulk, could they be considered the same? He wriggled between Hulk and the mangled bed, trying to tell himself, _It's okay, just calm down_ , but the strength that had so recently enticed him was suddenly all over him, unrelenting. He hadn't realized just how powerless he really was, and when Hulk closed his mouth over the slope of his shoulder, he panicked.

"Bruce!" Peter continued to push, but Hulk only grumbled happily as if he must have been joking. When he tried form sensible words, his mouth fumbled over them and couldn't get anything out. In desperation Peter looked to the desk. The syringe was in his line of sight but far out of reach. With nothing left to try, he aimed his web shooter and fired.

The first shot missed, and Peter groaned. Hulk moaning in response only made him that much more frantic, and he tried again until it finally caught. A jerk of his wrist carried the syringe to him, but then he had to struggle the webbing off the plunger. "Bruce," he continued to gasp, pushing and writhing, even more so when Hulk tried to close him into a too-tight embrace. "Bruce, stop--Bruce, _I can't breathe_."

Hulk flinched back. He was slow to understand, but he started when Peter jabbed the needled into his shoulder. It didn't penetrate his hide. For a moment they were frozen, Hulk staring in disbelief at Peter's hand around the syringe. Slowly, a look of revulsion came over him.

Peter jerked his hand back. Hulk opened his mouth, his brow furrowed and eyes intense as he worked up his voice, but Peter didn't wait. He struck again and managed to slip the needle past Hulk's parted teeth, burying it in the soft flesh on the inside of his cheek. His thumb shoved at the plunger.

Hulk recoiled and shook his head, sending the needle flying. His breath hissed through his teeth and Peter shrank beneath him; he didn't know what to expect and feared the worst, but then the horrible look on Hulk's face twisted into shame. His eyes rolled back and he slumped forward.

"Bruce--" Peter managed to get his arms up in time, keeping Hulk's heavy skull off his chest. As Hulk went lax the weight of his settling body was tremendous, and Peter's eyes watered as the air was crushed out of him. Gradually, it lessened. The Hulk melted away, shrinking bit by bit, his skin growing soft and muscles slack, until there was only Bruce left, sagging unconsciously onto Peter's chest.

And finally Peter could breathe.


	13. Chapter 13

Peter didn't move for a long time. He stared at the ceiling, feeling Bruce gently rise and fall against his chest as they breathed in unison. He kept waiting for Bruce to wake up, dreading it so deeply he couldn't even begin to plan how he would react. Fear ran circles around his chest until he finally couldn't take it anymore, and he pushed at Bruce's shoulders, scrambling out from under him and onto the floor.

He sat against the wall as the reality of what had and had almost happened crept in from all corners of the room.

The bed looked even worse from the outside; the entire lower half of the frame had been crushed out of proportion. With Bruce at the center, naked and half-buried in a dead mattress and sweaty sheets, no one would even need the heavy smell of sex in the air to realize what had happened. Peter looked down at his soiled suit, and with a jolt of embarrassment he stripped out of it. The spandex stuck to his skin, pulling at the tiny wounds inflicted by glass and claws and elevator shaft. Peter grimaced at the bruises he revealed. His adrenaline had finally thinned and it left him cold, exhausted, his hands shaking.

Peter rallied what remained of his strength and retreated to the bathroom. A quick, hot shower didn't help his nerves as much as he'd hoped it would. Once he was out and dry he wrapped himself in Bruce's bathrobe and stood with his hand on the doorknob. He closed his eyes and imagined Bruce sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for him. He remembered settling in against Bruce's back and feeling safe.

Back in the bedroom, Bruce hadn't stirred. Peter sat down next to him and touched his shoulder--it was still hot and moist, and Bruce didn't move. "Bruce?" Peter leaned closer, pulling the sheets away from Bruce's face so that there was plenty of space for him to breathe. "Hey, Bruce. Can you hear me?"

Bruce didn't respond. A thin trail of drool seeped into the bed.

Peter leaned back, at a loss. He told himself to think things through. He just had to wait--wait until Bruce woke up. Bruce wouldn't be happy but they could just...talk it out. They could make sense of it. But when Peter tried to think of what he would say, his mind went blank, and he realized his hands were shaking again.

He was trying to remember where he had left his backpack and the change of clothes inside when JARVIS suddenly spoke up. "The elevator is on its way up."

Peter started. He blinked into the air, glancing left and right as if JARVIS were a presence he could spot. Comprehending what he had said came a moment too late, and by the time Peter was on his feet, he could hear the elevator bell. "Shit," he hissed, turning instinctually toward the window. He stopped himself before he got more than a step; what was the point of hanging out a window in a bathrobe with nowhere to go and Bruce left behind? Anyone would be able to see. Everyone would know.

"Bruce?" came a voice from the living room. It was Steve. Of course it was Steve. "If you're here, I don't want to argue. Can we talk?"

Peter began to sweat all over again. Without any better ideas, he ducked into the hall and pulled the door shut behind him. The noise alerted Steve, who was only a few steps out of sight range anyway. Peter could only lean his back against the door, his hand tight around the knob as Steve rounded the corner and spotted him.

"Hey," Peter said. He tried to fake a smile and didn't even come close. "Captain."

Steve stared back at him, momentarily stunned, but then his face reddened and he sighed sharply through his nose. "Peter." He came forward, his expression a strange mix of frustration and uncertainty. He looked like he considered saying several things before settling with, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Peter said involuntarily. "Fine." He managed a little laugh and pulled up the collar of the bathrobe to hide the suck marks Bruce had left on him. "You know. I've had worse."

Steve rubbed his eyes, but whatever lecture he'd doubtlessly been preparing didn't make it out of him. "Is Dr. Banner in there?" he asked instead.

Peter gulped. "Yeah. But he's asleep."

"I need to talk to him."

"He's..." Peter's hand tightened against the doorknob and his shoulders hitched. "Asleep."

"It's important." Steve looked him over again and frowned; his embarrassment was finally breaking way for concern, and Peter could feel the bright blue eyes moving from his face, to his shaking hands, to his curled toes. "Is everything all right?" he asked carefully.

Peter opened his mouth, and he came close to saying he was fine again, he really did. His tongue stumbled over the lie and before he knew it, he was blurting out, "I had to sedate him."

Steve leaned back. Peter expected him to be alarmed, but he didn't expect the look of guilt that flickered across Steve's face. He glanced past Peter as if seeing straight through the closed door and seemed to comprehend immediately. He stepped forward, and Peter cringed back, and then his hand was gently squeezing Peter's shoulder.

"Peter," he said seriously, "are you okay?"

Peter gulped again, his lips twisting in a grimace of a smile. "I don't know," he admitted.

Steve took only a moment longer to decide what to do. With a look of sympathy he tugged Peter away from the door. "Come on," he said, and when Peter hesitated, he added, "I'm not going to give a speech. Trust me."

Peter nodded and let Steve herd him down the hall. He felt tiny and pieced together, and as much as he hated for Steve to be the one holding him up again, he didn't have much choice. In the elevator he slumped against the wall and did his best to stay composed.

"He didn't hurt me," he said quietly.

Steve nudged down the collar of Peter's bathrobe, revealing a fresh bruise blossoming across his clavicle. Peter eased him back, saying, "That was from Osborn." Steve shook his head but, thankfully, he kept whatever he was thinking to himself.

The elevator dropped them off only a floor below, where Steve was staying. Without a word Steve guided Peter to the sofa and sat him down. Peter rubbed his feet together as he was left alone, but Steve was back a minute later with a bottle of water and two aspirins. Peter accepted.

"Déjà vu," he said glumly.

Steve smiled. "Drink it slowly," he said, and then he was gone again, disappearing down the hall.

Peter wasn't sure he wanted anything in his stomach, but the first touch of water to his tongue convinced him otherwise. He downed the pills and then gulped half the bottle before he remembered Steve's warning. With the bottle cradled in his lap he leaned back, sinking into the sofa cushions and half wishing he could just disappear.

Steve returned with a blanket and draped it over him. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked.

Peter drew the blanket in tight around him. It smelled freshly cleaned and he was reminded suddenly of Aunt May. "Not really."

"Okay." Steve took a step back. "Sit tight--catch your breath. I'm going to check on Dr. Banner."

Peter cringed and wished he could have prevented him somehow, but Steve was heading for the elevator before he could get the words out. He watched, mortified, as the doors closed behind Steve and the number overhead dropped by one. Steve wouldn't need anyone to tell him what had happened. It was pretty damn obvious.

Steve would have to tell someone. He would probably go to Tony first, which meant Pepper would find out shortly afterward, maybe even Agent Romanoff and Director Fury. They would want to know the circumstances. Peter drank down the rest of the water so he could drop the bottle on the floor and then curled up under the blanket with a groan.

Bit by bit, all the injuries of the night were making their presence known. His back ached and his skull throbbed, reminding him of each blow and explosion, each barely-missed bullet. It hadn't seemed so bad at the time, swooping in, catching the bad guys. He was used to gunfire and even giant lizard creatures. General Ross's blood pumping against his hand was something else, though. Remembering Osborn's frail hiss and Hammer's half sympathy was even worse. All he'd wanted was to _come home_ , just like Bruce had said, be taken care of a little, let it all be better. And he'd screwed it up somehow.

"Stop," Peter grumbled, shoving his face into the cushions. "Don't cry, stupid."

Steve came back a few minutes later. He set Peter's backpack on the coffee table along with both his cell phones. When Peter peeked out from under the blanket, Steve showed him a web page on his own phone. "Does this look right to you?" he asked.

Peter stared blearily at laundering instructions for spandex. It might have even been the first page had looked up. "Yeah...?"

It wasn't until Steve was walking away that Peter realized he had a pillow case under his arm with something stuffed inside. He flushed and sat up. "Wait, Cap, you don't have to--"

"Just sit tight, Peter."

Peter slumped onto the sofa again. Captain America was doing his sex laundry. The world was coming to an end.

His new phone was blinking at him. Peter grabbed it, lying sideways as he thumbed his way to recent text messages. There was one from Aunt May that read, _Did you catch the bastards?_

Peter smiled to himself and texted back, _Yeah, nailed'm. I'm okay, with friends._

He closed his eyes, wincing at the sounds of Steve preparing the washing machine down the hall. A moment later his phone gave a jingle. Aunt May had messaged back, _I love you_.

When Steve came back, Peter was buried in the blanket again. He couldn't keep it together any longer, and as soon as Steve sat across from him he blurted out, "I fucked up again."

Steve sighed. He had changed out of his uniform into a T-shirt and sweats, which Peter was grateful for, even if it didn't make him much less imposing. "Whatever happened with Dr. Banner wasn't your fault."

"But he's told me so many times," said Peter, sitting up. "That we have to be careful, and go slow, and--I'm sorry, I know you probably don't want to hear this, but what am I supposed to do, you know? Yeah, I'm a teenager. And I didn't even think anything was wrong."

"Peter," said Steve.

"But of course I just pushed," he rambled on, his eyes aching. "And now he's going to wake up, and he's going to freak out, that's just what's going to happen, and he's going to say, 'I told you so' and probably run away. He's gone--he's going to run away."

"No one is--" Steve rubbed his eyes, and Peter was expecting an "I told you so" from him, too, but then he shook his head and said, "He wasn't mad at you, it was me."

Peter stared. "What did you do?"

Steve shifted uncomfortably. "We were having an argument when he stormed out," he said. "He warned me. But I didn't really think... I'm sorry, Peter."

Peter continued to stare at him, and finally he understood. "You were arguing about me."

"Yes."

Peter felt a shudder of mixed emotion and wanted to puke. "Why?" he asked, more sharply than he probably should have. "Because it matters that much to you who I sleep with?"

Steve's ears were pink. "In this case, yes, it does."

" _Why_?" Peter shrugged petulantly. "Plenty of kids younger than me have sex, you know."

"It's not just that and you know it." Steve shifted forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Dr. Banner is complicated."

"You think I'm not complicated?" Peter grumbled.

"And after what just happened you must understand that even better than me."

"That's..." Peter shrank into the blanket around his shoulders, bile at the back of his throat. "That's a really dick thing to say to me right now."

Steve started to reply, but then stopped himself, grimacing. "I know. But it's not about being a dick--I'm trying to look out for you."

"I don't want you looking out for me," said Peter, but then he regretted it a little, and he stumbled over his tongue. "It's not that I don't, you know, appreciate the effort. But I'm not a kid, and even if you think I'm making a mistake with Bruce, you gotta just stand back and let me make it, okay?"

"Your mistakes have a habit of affecting me," said Steve.

"Okay, come on, that is dick, too." Peter glared at the floor. "You know I didn't mean for you to get hurt."

Steve shook his head. "It's not your intentions I'm questioning, it's your judgment. You know this relationship isn't right. Why else did you both try to hide it from me?"

"Because we knew you'd react like this!" Peter said with a helpless gesture. "You just don't get it. Look at you--you're huge, and pretty, and, like, perfect, and I don't even know what the hell I am. And Bruce understands that, okay? He gets it, and he cares about me. You don't know what it means to me to have someone like him, and..."

Peter had felt the tears brewing for a while, but it still surprised him when one slipped free. He swiped angrily at his eyes and tried to keep going. "No one's going to hurt him because of me," he said, his heated momentum crashing into uncertainty. "And he knows I can hold my own against him, too, if I have to. And I did, but...fuck." He wiped his face against the collar of the bathrobe. "I don't know why we're even still arguing about this, because it might not matter by morning, thanks to you."

Steve lowered his eyes, and he might have looked remorseful, but Peter wasn't feeling particularly up to analyzing facial expressions at that moment. After a long, heavy silence, he said, "I'm sorry."

Peter wiped his face again and did his best to reel himself in, but seeing Steve's drooped shoulders didn't help. He was tired of feeling like the too-young teenager everyone was determined to treat him as, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "But it's not going to stop me from jumping out of buildings."

Steve glanced up, any sympathy in his expression fleeing in favor of total seriousness. Peter wasn't sure that he was ready for another round but he started anyway. "I'm sorry I lied to you about staying in the tower, but I'm not sorry I went," he said. "And if something happens again I'll be there."

Steve straightened up, but he took a moment to compose his response before saying it. "You once mentioned wanting to be an Avenger," he said. "Like it or not that means being under _my_ command."

"And I'm fine with that. It's not that I--"

"You can't be under my command if I can't trust you," Steve went on. "And right now, I'm not sure I do."

The words hurt more than Peter expected them to, even after everything else Steve had levied at him. "I...I can follow orders," he said. "But not if you're just going to order me onto the sidelines. Look at tonight. If I had followed orders Hammer would have gotten away--"

"You don't know that--"

"--and people would have died, including you. Can't you just accept that I did good this time?" The blanket was becoming suffocating, and Peter shoved it off. "I was right there with you guys, and I got that son of a bitch. Even Director Fury told me to go ahead."

Steve scowled; it was weird to see. "Director Fury is interested in completing missions. He means well but he doesn't always keep the interests of individual soldiers to heart."

"What does it matter if I _won_?" Peter said, exasperated.

" _This time_ you won," said Steve, his tone escalating just as quickly. "But it's not always going to be like that, Peter. If you keep on being as reckless as you have been it's going to go south, and I don't want you to get hurt."

"You're too late!" Peter snapped, and Steve leaned back, caught off guard. The sudden hurt in his wide blue eyes sucked out all of Peter's anger, and he was able to take a breath before continuing. "I've been hurt, Captain," he said, trying to channel all his sincerity. "I've been beat up, blown up, mauled, tasered, shot--and that was before any of _you_ came along. And yeah, it hurts. But what does that even matter when there are people out there being killed? It's like you said." He took another breath. "We weren't given gifts so we could use them for ourselves. We're supposed to be helping people."

Peter's strength faltered, and he looked to the floor again, his heart in his throat. "The last time I knew I could do something and chose not to, I lost my uncle," he said. "He died when I could have stopped it. And that's just not going to happen again." He forced himself to meet Steve's gaze. "So if you're going to fight crime or terrorists or aliens in New York, you're going to have to put up with me. Okay?"

Steve stared back at him for a long moment, contemplative and unreadable. At last he let his breath out. "Okay," he said. "Okay, Peter. I get it."

Peter let his breath out, too. He was ragged and his hands were shaking again, so he tried to hide them in the pockets of the bathrobe. "Good."

Steve rubbed his face and then climbed to his feet. He looked around the apartment for a moment as if dazed, and then suddenly asked, "Are you hungry?"

Peter frowned up at him. "It's almost two in the morning."

"I know." Steve headed for the open kitchen. "I'm going to make grilled cheese."

Peter huffed in incredulous amusement. He wasn't sure he could eat, but he did pick up the bottled water and gulped down the rest of it. "Sure," he said. "I'll take one, too."

"Good." Steve began rummaging around the kitchen for a pan. "You should know," he called as he worked, "that grenade wouldn't have killed me. It just would have made a mess."

Peter grimaced at the image. "You, uh, get hit by grenades often?" he called back.

"Used to."

"Well...you're welcome, all the same," Peter mumbled.

With Steve's back turned, Peter dug into his backpack. There was something comforting about the bathrobe, so he decided not to change clothes, but he did sneak his underwear on. As exhausted as he was, when butter began to sizzle in the pan, he perked up. It smelled good, and his stomach gave an eager leap. As ridiculous as it seemed to be in Captain America's apartment eating sandwiches in the middle of the night, he couldn't think of anything else he would rather be doing.

"Maybe I should go back up," he said, playing with his fingers. "If Bruce wakes up alone..."

"He won't." Steve flipped the sandwiches. "Stark says that the sedative will keep him out until morning, unless someone administers a counter-agent. You just worry about yourself for now, Peter."

Peter twisted on the sofa, his chin on its back as he watched Steve. "So, you did tell Mr. Stark."

"He knows Dr. Banner better than I do. I figured we could use his input." Steve paused. "I didn't tell him _everything_."

Peter glanced toward the hall; he could just barely hear the sound of the washing machine. "Thanks."

When Steve was finished with the sandwiches he brought them over on one plate and offered Peter another water. As before, Peter didn't realize how hungry he really was until the first bite, and afterwards he made quick work of it. Steve didn't take much longer on his own, and as they sat on the sofa together, he spoke up again.

"The truth is," he said carefully, "I think you remind me of someone."

Peter finished sucking the crumbs of his fingers and wiped his hands on the bathrobe. As familiar as he had become with Steve's serious side, he sounded different. "Yeah?"

"A friend of mine," Steve went on. "We grew up together." A bittersweet smile tugged his lips. "He was always looking out for the kids smaller than him, which usually meant _me_."

"You?" Peter said doubtfully.

Steve's smile grew bashful. "I wasn't always 'huge, pretty, and perfect.'" Peter blushed, but Steve continued before the embarrassment could get to him. "I was a scrawny little runt back then, but he always had my back. Stood up for me I don't know how many times." He lowered his eyes, and Peter turned toward him, giving his full focus; he already knew were the story was leading. "When we were in the army together, I was able to return the favor a time or two. But in the end it was always him, putting himself on the line for what was right, no matter what the cost."

Peter swallowed hard. "You lost him."

"I lost him." Steve shook his head. "I tried to protect him, but he was more interested in protecting me. He was a good soldier. I'm proud that he stood up like that, but..." He hesitated, and Peter waited anxiously in the silence, understanding at once that Steve was about to tell him something he hadn't said before. "I wish I could say that he died for me," he said, grimacing around the words. "I know how that sounds, but I'm sure it's what he's telling the boys upstairs. I know _he'd_ be proud of that. And I wish I could say that I absolutely would have died if he hadn't taken that hit. But sometimes I just know that's not true and it's..."

He trailed off, and Peter volunteered, "It sucks."

Steve sighed. "It sucks."

"I'm..." Peter clenched his jaw. He understood what Steve was really telling him, and his stomach knotted when he imagined how Steve must have felt, watching him rocket out of the Oscorp building, fate unknown. He wanted to say something to let Steve know that he understood the pain of a death wasted, but nothing felt right. "I'm sorry."

Steve was quiet. He stared at the table in front of them, his brow creased as if just realizing what he'd said, possibly regretting it. Then he turned to Peter with a serious look. "Do you still want to be on my team?"

Peter's breath caught in his throat, but once he'd managed to squeeze it out, there was only one answer. "Yes."

Steve straightened up; he was all business again. "Then we get a few things straight," he said. "I won't treat you like a kid. But if you come into my mission, that makes you my soldier. If I need you to do something, you do it, even if that means pulling back. _Especially_ if that means pulling back. I can always use a man with ideas of his own, so don't hesitate to speak up, but if we're going to be in the field together I need to know where you are and what you're doing. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Peter said involuntarily.

Steve smiled wryly. "And if they start lobbing grenades at me, let me handle it."

Maybe he was trying to be comical, but he wasn't fooling anyone; Peter knew what he really meant. "I understand, Captain."

"Okay." With a deep breath Steve stood up and collected the empty plastic bottles on the plate. "You know, when we're not in uniform, you can call me Steve."

Peter's cheeks reddened, and he dragged the blanket back over him as Steve moved away. "Um, I'll try."

Steve dropped the bottles into a recycle bin. "But it's been a while since someone called me a dick."

Peter harrumphed. "I don't believe that."

Steve chuckled and shook his head. Peter watched him over the back of the sofa, not sure what to make of his emotions. It had inspired him, seeing Captain America in full uniform, witnessing him take responsibility for and control over his team. He was honest and he looked out for his peers, maybe more than was necessary, but for the right reasons. It was easy to see why any soldier would have given their life for him. But he was still just Steve, drying his hands on his sweatpants when he finished giving the plate a rinse. He was doing his best the only way he knew how.

"Justin Hammer said something to me," said Peter. He wasn't sure why he felt compelled to repeat it, but by then Steve was turning toward him, and it was too late to back out. "He said we all go a little crazy when something's taken from us."

Steve frowned, leaning back against the countertop. "I'm not sure about his choice of words," he replied, "but I guess I can't disagree with the sentiment."

Peter met his eyes. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost Bruce."

Steve looked like he had been expecting that. With a quiet exhale he pushed away from the counter. "I'm not going to take him from you," he said. "I got the message: it's none of my business." He hesitated and then added, "But you can talk to me, if you ever need to."

"Okay." Peter drew the blanket tightly around his shoulders. "Thanks."

"Okay," Steve echoed. Finally he headed back toward the elevator. "I'm going to check in with Stark," he said. "Try to get some sleep, if you can. It's been a long night."

"Yeah, no kidding." Peter watched him, and by the time Steve reached the elevator he was able to get the words out. "Thank you. Steve."

Steve glanced back and smiled. "Thanks for saving me from a mess," he said, and he left.

Peter smiled to himself. It was probably the closest to "good job" that he could expect for the moment. He stretched out on the sofa again, telling himself he ought to be pleased that he'd made Steve understand. But in the silence of the apartment, the doubts began to creep in again. He still had no idea what to say to Bruce, let alone Tony or Fury or whoever else found out. He didn't know how the others would react to his attempt at heroics, either.

Thankfully, he was too exhausted to dwell on it. He curled up under the blanket, and with his eyes closed sleep came much easier than he expected. He let the sore limbs and anxious questions slip away and happily passed out.

***

When Justin Hammer awoke, he was first aware of the handcuffs.

He had been cuffed to the rails of a hospital bed. Immediately he pulled against them, but as soon as he moved stinging pain coursed up and down his limbs. It felt as if there was fire under his skin, racing from his fingers to his toes in waves that crashed through each other when they met at his center. There were tubes in his wrists and nose and everything tasted like bile.

But the handcuffs were the worst. Their cold cinch against the inside of his wrists shot panic into his brain.

"Hey!" Hammer squirmed and tried to kick the sheets off of him; even with just the hospital gown and a cheap blanket he was sweltering. "Hello? I still have insurance, you know! I can afford better drugs than this!"

He coughed and tried to take in his surroundings, but there wasn't much to see. He was in a private recovery room. Bit by bit he remembered the elevator shaft and the claws in his gut. When he took in a deep breath he could feel the dressings pulling against his stomach--had he been in surgery? He was in enough pain to be fresh out of surgery, that much he knew.

"Hey!" he shouted again, even though his throat burned with the effort. It didn't seem natural. He was sweating, and judging by the smell, he had been for a while. His eyesight swam in and out as he punched at what looked a nurse's call button near his left hand. "Hey! Nurse! Get in here!"

A door opened, and Hammer glimpsed a police uniform in the hall beyond before the nurse entered. She checked the readouts on Hammer's monitoring equipment and turned toward him. "Good morning, Mr. Hammer," she said, turning on a dim light overhead.

Hammer winced against the glow. "What time is it?"

"Almost five in the morning." She frowned as she looked him over. "One a scale of one to five, what would you--"

"Give me the drugs," Hammer interrupted, tugging on the handcuffs. "God damn it. It wasn't supposed to work out like this."

"We'll start with some dilaudid," the nurse was saying as she opened a cart against the wall. "Actually, that's all I've been authorized to give you. It can cause nausea in some patients, so--"

"What did they do to me?" Hammer raised his hand as high as he could; his skin looked sickly and yellowed. "What did they give me?"

"You were in surgery, Mr. Hammer. The pain is--"

"Did something to me," Hammer grumbled. He pulled on the handcuff holding his right hand, exerting slow, even pressure. He watched the metal bend. "No...wait. Wait." His stomach lurched, and though it was a struggle to swallow its bare contents back, it reminded him of the elevator, and he laughed hoarsely. " _I_ did something to me."

The handcuff snapped. The noise alerted the nurse and she turned, but by then Hammer had torn off the other cuff and was climbing out of bed. When his feet hit the floor his vision swam, but he still had enough of his senses that he was able to grab the nurse before she could reach the door. Her scream brought the officers in: two of them, pulling their guns out. Hammer yanked the nurse to his chest, arm around her throat.

"Let her go!" one of the officers shouted. "There are federal agents in the building, Hammer; even if you get out of this room there's nowhere for you to go!"

He was right--Hammer could hear them in the hall, talking into their radios. He could hear a lot of things going on in the hospital that he shouldn't have: patients coughing, vacuums whirring, a gurney with a rusty wheel. All of it melted together in his pounding ears. It was while he was trying to make sense of it that he realized the nurse was still screaming, and the officers were swearing in shock and confusion. She smelled of burning.

Hammer shoved the nurse away, catching a glimpse of red welts on her skin where he had touched her. As one of the officers caught and urged her back, the other started ordering Hammer onto the ground. His voice was like a smear in the air that swam in and out of focus. "Fucking Oscorp," Hammer growled, stretching his fingers out in front of him. His hands were blotchy with sweat, and when he wiped them on his hospital gown, the fabric seemed to hiss. "What the hell was in that serum?"

"This is your last warning," the officer shouted as men in black appeared in the doorway. "Get down on your knees, now!"

"Okay." Hammer took a step to his left. "Okay, I'm doing it."

He grabbed the IV stand, wielding it like a baseball bat. The wheels smashed into the officer's elbow, shattering bone and sending him flying into the wall. The agents behind him drew their firearms but by then he was hefting the hospital bed. He didn't know what made him think he could lift it, but his muscles pulsed and responded, flinging the broad frame as easily as if it were a cane. With a burst of exhilaration Hammer swung the bed into the window behind him.

The glass shattered. Cold morning wind howled into the room; they were at least five stories up, Hammer estimated, but that didn't stop him from sprinting to the opening. The memory of waking up to handcuffs propelled him through the broken window, and then he was falling, his limbs flailing, helpless and gasping. His mind went blank. Nothing flashed before his eyes.

The courtyard rose to meet him, and Hammer kept his eyes open the entire time, up until his feet hit the concrete sidewalk. He consciously traced the impact up his ankles and calves, into his center of gravity. His knees hit the ground, followed by his palms, then his forehead, his body hunched in a circle of broken stone like a man praying. He could hear his skin split against chunks of upended sidewalk, hear his bones rattle. Slowly, he let his breath out, and when he lifted his head, he was alive.

Hammer leaned back on his heels and looked around; he had created a decent sized crater but he was intact. He was more than intact--he was vibrant. His senses were humming with inhuman perception and his body felt tight and manufactured, as if he'd been taken apart and re-pieced.

"It worked." Hammer looked at his hands again, and though they were still clammy and discolored, he couldn't help but marvel at the tiny scrapes in his fingers closing up as if by magic. "It worked!" he cheered, but then his stomach gave another heavy lurch, and he doubled over, gasping and gagging.

"Okay," he muttered, fighting back another wave of stinging pain as he dragged himself to his feet. "It kind of worked." But he was alive, and he was free, and that meant he still had time. He could still finish what he'd started.

Once he was upright he spotted a path that lead to the parking lot and began to run.


	14. Chapter 14

"Peter. Peter, wake up."

Peter rubbed his eyes. The city view through the far windows was still mostly dark and he would have liked to sleep a while longer, but Steve's hand was on his shoulder, urging him up. "What is it?" he asked blearily.

"It's Hammer," said Steve, and Peter woke up fast. "You need to suit up."

Peter gulped, but he nodded and let Steve help him to his feet. Steve was already in uniform. "He broke out of the hospital an hour ago," he explained as he led Peter to the laundry room where his suit was hanging. "Injured a nurse, a police officer, and two men in the parking lot during his escape. Something's been done to him, Peter--they say he gave the nurse second degree burns just by touching her, and then leapt out a sixth story window."

Peter stared at him in confusion. "What?"

Steve shook his head. "I know, I know. I'm assuming you didn't see anything like that when you caught him."

Steve turned his back, and it took Peter a moment to realize he was supposed to be changing. "No," Peter said dumbly. He tossed the bathrobe onto the washer and, with a little blush, pulled off his boxers. "No, he wasn't even a match for Osborn. That sounds insane."

"Agent Calloway over at scene two reported that they were able to pry open the dropped elevator. They found a hazard bag, but nothing was in it."

"The bag..." Peter squeezed his suit in various places to be sure it had dried and then stepped into it. "Hammer did have a bag with him when he left the penthouse," he said. "Something he didn't have with him on the glider. He must have gotten it from Osborn, but he wouldn't tell me what was in it."

"It could be that they've put my blood to good use after all," Steve muttered.

Peter glanced at his turned back. He thought about Dr. Connors and a certain algorithm and knew exactly how Steve must have felt. "Do we know where he is?"

"FBI lost track of him. They think he was picked up, because there's no sign of him on the streets. But at this point he has nothing. There's a good chance..."

"He's coming here," Peter finished. He shivered and was then disgusted with himself. _He's still just one man_ , he told himself as he slipped all the way into his suit. _He's not worse than Osborn, or Dr. Connors, or_... He glanced to Steve again. _You're working together on this. You can take him._

He smoothed the spandex over his chest. The wash had gotten the stains out, thank God, but he could still feel all the tiny scratches and rough spots. The pressure against his skin reminded him all over again of bruises and sore muscles. He looked at his palms, remembering Hammer's blood in the creases. He didn't know why but it frightened him, and it frightened him that it frightened him.

Steve was facing him again. "I said you're a part of this team now, and I meant it," he said. "That won't change even if you decide to sit this one out."

Peter chewed his lip, hating how tempting it was. But he knew better. "How can I if he's heading this way? I'm all wrapped up in this--I can't back out now." He found his web shooters nearby and switched out the cartridges for fresh ones. After some hesitation he asked, "What about Bruce?"

"Stark's upstairs with him now. He says if Hammer did inject himself with some brand of Super Soldier Serum, we might need him, or else need..." Steve looked like he was trying not to wince. "Do you want to be there when he wakes up?"

Peter fidgeted. "I don't know," he admitted. "I mean, I do want to be there. But Bruce and I never really talked about...his other half. I honestly don't know if it'll do more harm than good if I..."

He trailed off, uncertain and hoping that Steve wouldn't resort to "I told you sos" after all. To his relief, Steve just waved him out of the laundry room. "Then stay with me for now," he said. He handed Peter a fresh earpiece, which he slipped into place. "Stark can handle it, and you can talk when you and Dr. Banner are both ready for it."

"Okay." Peter took a deep breath and followed him back down the hall, his mask twisting in his hands.

***

Bruce woke up to a pounding head and a horrid taste at the back of his throat. When he opened his eyes the room swam in and out of focus, going from dreary blur to stinging pinpoints of light, and his hands felt huge and heavy. With coughs and sputters he tried to sit up.

"Easy," said Tony, and when he pushed on Bruce's chest, Bruce collapsed onto his back again without complaint. "I know what your head feels like right now. Here." He pressed a glass into Bruce's hands.

"What...?" Bruce brought water to his mouth and drank, spilling some of it. The cold felt good, and he pressed the bottom of the glass to his forehead in hopes that it would calm his headache. "Tony. What happened?"

Tony crouched down next to him, and it wasn't until then that Bruce realized he was on the sofa in his living room, covered in only a sheet. When Tony's face came into focus the serious look it bore put Bruce on edge. "How much do you remember?"

Bruce tensed; he knew what that meant. His mind raced back, past the smear of color and heat that preceded his awakening. "I remember...fighting with Steve," he admitted, shame making the taste of sick in his mouth worse. When he let go of the glass half balanced on his forehead, Tony took it away for him. "Oh my God," he said, rubbing his face. "Was I sedated?"

"Yeah." Tony was trying very hard to sound unconcerned. "But you didn't hurt anyone. You were put down pretty quickly."

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut. Something was prickling at the back of his mind, and he reached after it, trying to remember. The memory of facing Steve and that terrible, disappointed expression of his kept getting in the way. "I guess I should thank JARVIS for that," he mumbled.

Tony hesitated, and it was enough. In that tiny span of silence Bruce remembered Peter tumbling in through the window. Heat seared his palms in ripples, and he could feel Peter's breath hard against his neck. He had fought with Steve and come back to the room and _Peter had been there_.

Bruce jolted upright. "Where's Peter?"

"He's fine," Tony said immediately, as if he had been waiting for it. "He's completely fine, Bruce."

But Bruce knew better. He stared at his hands and felt flashes of his brief time as the Hulk--not the swell of anger and satisfaction he was used to, but shame and disgust. Even his other half was appalled at what he had been and done. When he closed his eyes again he was certain he could hear pain in Peter's voice.

"Where is he?" he demanded.

Tony leaned back and reluctantly gave up the truth. "He's downstairs, with Steve. Just calm down, Bruce. He's not--"

By then Bruce was already on his feet. Ignoring that he was naked, he stormed down the hall to the bedroom and threw the door open. He wasn't prepared for what he found; the bedframe was mangled, looking as if it had been put through a trash compactor. He imagined Peter among the wreck and thought he would be sick.

"Bruce," said Tony. He said something else, but Bruce didn't hear; he was staring at the bed, trying to remember, but all that came to him was an echo of Peter's laughter against his ear. They had been in bed together when it happened. His worst nightmare had come true.

Panic drove Bruce forward. His breath came short and fast as he moved to the set of drawers, finding pants and a fresh shirt. Even once he was haphazardly dressed he continued to pull out clothing, tossing it into piles on the desk. He dragged his old duffel out of the closet.

"What are you doing?"

Bruce began shoving the clothes into the bag. "What does it look like?"

"Hey, wait a minute. Don't blow this out of--"

He touched Bruce's arm--Bruce jerked away. "Don't touch me," he said, meaning it. His head was still hazy and pounding, putting a terrible hum under his skin, and even with the drugs lingering in his system he knew it wouldn't take much to set him off again. "Don't, Tony."

Tony took a respectful step back but he didn't stop talking. "Bruce, just calm down for a second, okay? I know how this looks, but whatever happened, the kid's fine, I promise."

"You don't..." Bruce's knees wobbled, and he gripped the desk with one hand to keep his balance. "You don't understand," he said, scraping his knuckles across his closed eyes. "I could have _killed_ him."

"But you _didn't_. You didn't even--am I the only one having déjà vu here?" When Bruce resumed his hasty packing, Tony circled to a better position where he could still see Bruce's face. "Stop putting things in the bag; we both know you're not going anywhere."

"I shouldn't be here," Bruce said under his breath as he yanked his shoes on. He shoved his strewn medical equipment into its leather satchel and then zipped that into the duffel as well. "I knew this would happen eventually--I can't do this. I can't--"

He was shaking. He looked back to the bed, let fear and bitterness pour all through him, and wondered if he might become a spider. He tried to imagine a Hulk borne of fear instead of rage and felt such a creature pulsing down the length of his body. Fear tied him in knots and fear drove him back out of the bedroom, down the hall toward the elevator.

"You need to think about this," Tony called as he chased after him. "What are you going to do, Bruce? Where are you going to go? Running away isn't going to change anything."

"Not running didn't change anything, either," Bruce retorted. He reached the elevator and then changed his mind--JARVIS wasn't going to take him anywhere Tony didn't want him to go. He chose the stairs instead.

"We're ninety floors up," Tony reminded him.

"Leave me alone, Tony."

"Jesus, you can be so..." Tony continued to follow, and when Bruce reached the next floor he hopped down the last two steps and grabbed Bruce's arm, halting him. "Listen; he's right through that door," he said, pointing. "Get over yourself for five minutes and _talk to him_."

Bruce shook his head. All he had in him was "goodbye" and he knew he wouldn't be able to say it. Tony scowled in frustration, saying, "So you're going to walk out and that's it? Don't you think you owe him more than that?"

"I know what I owe him!" Bruce snapped, and he shook free. "I can't..." He continued down the stairs even though his legs were already feeling weak. "I can't pay what I owe him."

Tony continued to follow, and after they'd gone down another flight he tried again. "Okay; all right. But if I have to chase you down six dozen floors _I'm_ going to Hulk out." He jumped down a few steps to pull ahead of Bruce and stood in front of him. "Can we _please_ take the elevator?"

Bruce knew it was a trap, but he was even more certain that he wouldn't be able to make it to the lobby any other way. He let Tony lead the way through the empty apartment below Steve's into the elevator. Part of him wanted to break open the console and rewire it himself so Tony couldn't trap him inside; the thought of being closed in a can, breathing his own poisoned air, made him dizzy. Thankfully, once they were inside Tony told JARVIS to take them to the lobby.

"Bruce," said Tony as they began to descend. "Talk to me."

Bruce slumped against the wall. He felt as if his skin was vibrating, as if the tower was closing in around him, heavy and taunting and begging for him to tear it down. Usually after an event he felt at least satiated, anger giving way to shame or sometimes relief, but that wasn't the case. The anger was still with him, biting into his lungs. It was all directed at himself and he could have imploded.

"The first time I changed, Betty was there," he said.

Tony leaned against the opposite wall. "I know."

"I hurt her." The memory made him ache all over. "I broke her arm, fractured her orbital socket. I came close to killing her."

"An accident," Tony said, but Bruce was already shaking his head.

"General Ross showed me the footage, once," said Bruce. "He thought it would convince me to turn myself in, seeing what I was capable of on my own. It didn't work." He gulped. "All I could think about was the night before the accident. We had a stupid argument over the program, and her father, and..." He couldn't swallow down the emotion a second time, and he rubbed his face, trying not to be overwhelmed.

Tony moved closer. "I know you don't think I understand," he said. "And maybe I don't. But I _do_ know what it's like when people you care about are in danger because of you. Pepper and I have had that conversation a dozen times by now. And every time she says the same thing." He waited until Bruce was looking up to say it. "'Trust me enough to decide for myself.'"

"Pepper's not a teenager," said Bruce.

"Well, sometimes...okay, no, point taken. But still, come on. You don't have to talk to him now, but at least come back upstairs and cool off for a while."

Bruce looked away. "Do I even want to imagine what Steve's telling him right now?"

"Forget about Steve--fuck Steve."

"No, he was right." Bruce watched the numbers counting down. "I've been selfish. Peter's already been through hell and I just make it worse." His knuckles whitened as he gripped the straps of his bag. "You _don't_ understand. Even if Pepper was in danger it wouldn't be you, _your body_ , hurting her."

Tony frowned awkwardly. His eyes darted away and Bruce wondered if there was a story there he didn't know about. "People hurt each other," said Tony. "With or without a Hulk involved. It's called being in a relationship."

"Don't try to simplify it like that--you know this is different."

They reached the lobby, and Tony stopped them with the door closed, just as Bruce knew he would. "If you're really worried about being selfish, look at yourself now," he said, his frustration finally showing through in full. "We've _all_ been through hell tonight, and it's not over yet. You can't run out on us."

Bruce had a lot he could have said, but seeing Tony's hand on the panel, _knowing_ he was trapped, made the animal in him even more restless. "Tony, let me out."

"Hammer is loose," said Tony, and the hair on Bruce's arms stood on end. "He's pumped himself full of something and we're going to need your help."

"What?" Bruce shook his head. "No--they brought Hammer in."

"Yeah, well, that didn't quite agree with him, apparently." He leaned closer, and as stupid as Bruce felt for it, he tensed. "I can't leave the tower. Fury has me under some bullshit house arrest. Until we can clear it up, me and the armor are out. They're going to need you on this one, and so is Peter."

Bruce shook his head again; he wasn't in any way prepared to be depended on. "Let me out," he said again. His ears were full of his own pulse and he didn't want to hear any more. "Tony, open the door."

"Not until you--"

"No--enough!" Bruce shouldered his bag and shoved Tony's hand off the panel, pushing the button himself. "I'm sick of all of you telling me what I should do," he said as the door finally opened. "Just don't--just stay out of it!"

He stormed into the lobby and realized with a shock that it was the first time he had been in it--the few times he had entered or left the tower it had been through Tony's private underground lot. The place was eerily empty except for an extra security presence, and their crisp uniforms put Bruce on edge more than ever. He had no idea what he was doing or where he was going, but he had to _get out_. Trying to ignore the officers staring at him, he strode purposefully for the front door.

Tony was still behind him. "Please tell me you're not going out this way."

"I'm done," said Bruce, not looking back. He was looking at the two men stationed on either side of the revolving doors, and the attention they were paying him. "If I have to take a New York cab to a train station, that's what I'll do."

"If you're that determined to wuss out, at least be smart about it," said Tony, by then at his elbow. "Let me take you out through the back, so to speak."

Bruce harrumphed. "So you can try to lock me in another elevator?"

Tony rolled his eyes at him. "Jesus, Bruce, just because you're sleeping with a teenager doesn't mean you get to act like one."

Bruce turned on him, but then security was beside him, and a guard touched his shoulder. He saw red. His desperation was all-consuming and he wanted to feel bones between his fingers. Before he could take a breath, Tony was there, urging the man back.

"It's okay," said Tony, and Bruce could guess what his own face must have looked like, judging by the wary look on Tony's. "We're okay--let him go."

Bruce shoved past them, past the revolving doors, through a normal exit and out of the building. He wanted to run until his knees rattled apart, but rather than a broad entranceway he was greeted with a wall of people. Lights flashed against his weary eyes and strangers jostled toward him from all sides. The press--he had forgotten all about the media coverage. It only intensified when Tony appeared behind him. A long night of waiting had left the reporters restless and they all started shouting questions at once, their voices mixing and unintelligible.

"Get out of my way!" Bruce growled, but no one heard let alone heeded him. He shoved past the microphones and cameras, the press of their bodies making him nauseous. He felt like a coward and didn't care. It would have been so easy to scatter them, he thought, their skin under his fingernails and their skulls under his feet. He wondered how much death would satisfy the animal in him. When five fingers clenched in the back of his shirt his first thought was that it was Peter, and panic took the place of his anger; he turned, wild and afraid. " _Stay away from me_!"

Metal cocked close to his ear. Bruce would have recognized the sound anywhere, and he froze, going numb to the commotion around him. A cool cylinder was pressed to his temple.

"Fate," said Justin Hammer, "is in the timing. Don't you agree, Dr. Bancroft?"

Bruce held his breath and looked. Hammer had snuck in among the journalists, dressed in a press jacket with a baseball cap pulled low over his face. "Or can I call you Bruce?" he said, adjusting his grip on the six shot revolver he was holding to Bruce's head.

The surrounding men and women were slow to notice. It wasn't until Tony went still that they saw the gun, and then Tony was pushing them back, urging everyone to not be a hero.

"You don't have any idea what you're doing," said Bruce, absolutely motionless, as Tower security finally took note and began moving through the crowd. Before any of them could circle around behind Hammer, one of the camera crews shed their equipment in favor of pistols and took up defensive positions by their ring leader.

"No, I get it," said Hammer. His yellowed face was glistening with sweat and his eyes were bright and anxious. He licked his lips and winced. "I thought I was going to have to storm the tower, but here you are, and Anthony with you. It's my lucky day after all."

"Everyone, shut the hell up," Tony was snapping at the reporters, but Hammer laughed, his voice hoarse and sticky.

"Yes, yes, stand back and shut up," he crowed. "But don't stop taking the pictures. This is good shit."

"Hammer." Tony crept closer. "Put the fucking gun down. Don't you know what'll happen?"

"Oh, I know." He met Bruce's gaze, and Bruce shuddered. "You know, don't you, Bruce? What'll happen if I pull this trigger?" His finger curled. "Do _they_ know? I doubt they've seen the footage. Tell them." His smile was thin and manic. "Would the big green guy smash them into jelly? Or pop their heads off like dandelions?"

Bruce clenched his fingernails into his palms and had to fight hard to not imagine either. "Is that really what you want?" he asked. "After all your little tricks, just one big bloody mess?"

Hammer licked his lips again. "Maybe." His eyes flicked to the side. "How does it work? Would you totally lose it? Would _he_ \--" he tilted his head "--survive it?"

Bruce swallowed and was wise enough to not look. "No," he said quietly, and though they were still several paces apart he felt Tony shift his weight.

The cameras continued to snap around them. Bruce thought he heard one of the reporters doing a lead-in for their station. The security guards exchanged glances and one of them started talking into a radio. No one knew what to do and then Hammer was talking again. "Then yeah," he said, his thumb rubbing back and forth against the revolver's hammer. "That's what I really want."

"You won't live to see it," Bruce warned him. He dropped his duffel and turned, the muzzle dragging across his skin to center in his forehead. "Do it and you're first. Every bone in your body."

Hammer's grin deepened, flashing teeth, his eyes pinching at their corners. "Ask me if I care," he replied.

Bruce felt a chill, and as he stared at Hammer's pinched face across the gun, he had the fleeting impression that he was looking at himself. He knew desperation. He remembered what it had felt like, hands shaking around the grip with death at the other end. He saw in Hammer the crazed resignation that had once taken hold of him. It wasn't that he wanted to die; he just didn't know how to write any other ending.

"Do it," said Bruce before he knew the words were in him. Some mad part of him wanted Hammer to have the conclusion he hadn't been able to grant himself, and he shook, leaning into the barrel. "If you're going to do it, get it over with."

"Justin, wait," Tony intervened, maneuvering alongside Bruce. "If this is all about me, then just fucking shoot me already, all right? Enough of this dicking around. Point the gun over here."

Hammer twitched and looked tempted. Bruce tensed. He was already drawn so tight it wouldn't matter who Hammer ended up shooting; if the gun went off his control would go with it, he was certain. He _wanted_ the gun to go off. But then Hammer's eye caught on something behind them, and his face went slack. He leaned away. "Stark," he said. "Get in the van."

Tony blinked. "What van?"

One of Hammer's men stepped forward and grabbed Tony by his shirt, pulling him toward the sidewalk. Tower security immediately started to follow, but Hammer ordered them back, and Tony supported him. Something had hardened in Hammer's eyes, but Bruce didn't understand why until the reporters began to murmur and look to the tower. Something landed among them and then called out, "Bruce!"

The blood rushed out of him. Only then did he register any fear of the weapon aimed at him, and he looked to Hammer, all his pleas reversing. If Hammer understood, Bruce couldn't tell, but he grabbed Bruce by the collar and dragged him toward the curb.

"Don't think I won't still do it," Hammer warned as one of the news vans opened behind him, and another man with a pistol hauled Tony inside.

"Bruce!"

Peter was moving through the crowd. It wasn't until he was being prodded into the van that Bruce looked back, his nerves buzzing at the sight of Peter in full costume, trying to get to them. Of all the things that could have come out of him then, what he wanted most was offer apologies. He didn't get the chance to even take a breath, because then Hammer swung the gun away from him and pointed it at Peter. "Don't make me do it, kid," he said.

Peter didn't halt; he lifted his wrists intending to fire his web, but Hammer's finger was already on the trigger. It was too much. The thought of Peter running headlong into a bullet turned Bruce's senses on end and he lunged. He didn't make it before the mercenaries grabbed him, two them hauling him through the side door of the van. He pawed at them, felt muscles rippling under his skin, but Hammer was out of reach and Peter was still heading for him.

Something flat and circular whirled over the heads of the crowd, sending Hammer ducking out of the way. The metal struck the frame of the van and imbedded almost halfway. With a curse Hammer dove into the vehicle and snatched the door handle. As the men piled in and the engine revved, Hammer fired blindly into the crowd.

The report of the gun blared across Bruce's ears. He saw Peter leap away, red and blue safely out of the line of fire just before Hammer yanked the door shut, but it didn't help. His body constricted all around him and he jumped, throwing the men off, his hands around Hammer's throat, heaving him to the floor. As the van screeched out of the driveway Bruce forced all his strength and weight into his fingers around Hammer's neck.

He should have felt Hammer's spine snap. He waited for a spasm of muscle, a collapsing trachea. Hammer struggled beneath him as the men pried and shouted, his face blotchy and flushed, his eyes bulging, but he wasn't dying.

"Let go or I shoot!" said one of the men, and Bruce growled, his consciousness far away. He wanted the bullet. Then Tony was there, talking them down.

"Shoot him in here and we'll all die," he said. "You have to back off."

Bruce bared teeth when Hammer gagged and pawed at his wrists. He tried to tell Tony to stay back, it was too late, but then Tony was in front of him. "Bruce," Tony said, wrapping his arms around Bruce's neck. "Bruce, you have to stop. He's still out there--if you want him to be safe, _you can't do this now_."

Bruce shuddered and tried to pull away, but Tony only held on tighter, until he couldn't see or hear anything but Tony, talking close to his ear. "Bruce, please, you have to stop. I know you can."

Bruce took in a deep breath, and it wasn't until then that he realized how wide his lungs were, how broad his chest was around them. Tony was small and spindly and Hammer's neck too short for all his fingers. He saw himself as if from a far corner, and he imagined Steve's hands moving over his, gripping his wrists. He closed his eyes, and by the time he let go he was picturing Steve banishing the inhuman color from his skin.

The man swarmed over them again, pulling Hammer out. Bruce went lax, and it wasn't until his body shriveled that he realized how far the transformation had progressed. Tony pushed him onto his back, covered his ears and leaned over him, blocking out the mercenaries and Hammer, gagging against the wall. The van bounced and sped up.

"Bruce." Tony leaned into him. "Tell me you're gonna be okay."

Bruce twisted his hands in Tony's shirt and was grateful for the stability. With every breath he came back into himself. "Tony," he sighed. "Why do you even put up with me?"

"Because I don't want my head popped off like a dandelion." Tony gave his cheek and affectionate pat. "Stay still. We'll be all right."

Bruce opened his eyes. By then Hammer was sitting up on his own power and fingering his neck. He wasn't even bruised, and Bruce felt the beast in him quiver angrily.

"I'm not going to be able to hold it in much longer," he whispered. "It's going to be...bad."

"I know." Tony helped him sit up, and they faced Hammer together. "Just keep it together as long as you can."

***

When the van pulled away, Peter's body fell into autopilot. He jumped onto the nearest of the other news vans and lassoed a far building, using what little momentum he had to swing in pursuit. With the sun only barely risen the full brunt of rush hour traffic had yet to take effect, but there were enough cars already on the roads that the escaping van couldn't make great progress. He had no trouble catching up.

Steve's shield was still embedded in the side. Peter swung down, using more than one strand to control his angle and speed well enough that by the time he landed on the scorched emblem, his weight barely registered. Once his ride was safely assured he took a deep breath. _You can't just pull this van apart_ , he told himself. _If they see you and start firing, and Bruce--_ He gulped with the memory of Bruce's wild eyes as he was pulled back by the mercenaries. _Don't risk it. You don't know what's going on in there._

His earpiece buzzed with a moment of static as a connection was made. "Spider-Man," said Steve. "Are you in pursuit? I'm behind you."

Peter turned, but he didn't see anything other than morning drivers swerving in the wake of the fleeing van. "I don't see you."

"I'm hanging back. We don't want to give Hammer the excuse to threaten Dr. Banner any more than he already has. Understand? Do not engage."

"I know." Peter clung to the back corner of the van, making sure he was out of sight of the mirrors. They weren't driving erratically enough for criminals with a hero on their roof, or at least, he liked to think so. "I'm only following. I just wish I knew what was going on in here..."

He hadn't heard any of the words exchanged outside the tower, but he had seen their faces: Hammer's cold determination and Bruce's colder panic, both of them tumbling into the van and Tony helplessly dragged along. He knew that Bruce was safe--the Hulk was indestructible--but he knew even better what had driven Bruce from the tower in the first place, and the burden it would put on him if he was forced to change again.

The van turned a sharp corner, and Peter had to stick his hands to the roof to keep from being thrown. A pair of police cruisers was headed their way, and as they caught up the van veered again, its back end clipping a parked truck. "Captain," said Peter as he flattened himself to the vehicle. "I've got cops here. Can't you tell them to back off? We can't have this fight in the streets."

"I'm on it," said Director Fury, suddenly on the channel as well. "Our bird's in the air with Agent Romanoff, headed to your position. Be smart about this, both of you. We can't have the Hulk loose in Manhattan."

Peter grimaced to hear him talk about Bruce that way, but there wasn't time to argue. "Yes, sir," he said.

"Remember: it's Stark that's vulnerable. Get him out first. If it goes to hell and we end up with a Hulk on our hands, try to get to the river. At least we'll have an easier time supporting you."

"We'll try not to let it come to that, sir," said Steve.

The police cars shut off their sirens. Peter watched them slow down and wasn't sure if he felt relieved or worse; even knowing Steve was somewhere behind him, he felt alone. _Just hold on, Bruce_ , he thought, centering himself with a deep breath as the van turned west. _I'll find a way to get you out of this._


	15. Chapter 15

Bruce closed his eyes and counted to ten; of all the techniques and self-treatments he had learned it was the only thing he could think to do. By the time he opened his eyes his breathing had leveled out, but the sweaty, bouncing confines of the van rendered the effort all but useless. Tony leaning against his shoulder was a small but vital comfort as he watched Hammer regain his composure and wave off the assistance of his men.

"Well, not exactly how I thought things would go," said Hammer. "But I'll take it."

"What now, Hammer?" asked Tony. "We just drive around until the police catch us, and then we have another standoff? This is some plan."

"It's not my best," Hammer admitted. "Nathan was right; patience is a virtue." He looked to the front. "Did you hear that? I said you were right."

"I heard you," said the driver.

"But he came with me anyway, God bless him. You know, they say never pay a mercenary up front. But if you do it enough, it does create loyalty."

He spat, and the glob of saliva that hit the carpet sizzled. Bruce stared at it, then back at Hammer's face, calling upon his scientific mind to aid him where other methods of calming had failed. Preliminary evaluation: heart rate and blood pressure elevated, hyperbilirubinemia, raw skin around his mouth, nostrils, and tear ducts. "What did they give you?" he asked. "Was it Ross' serum? Or was it something new?"

"Hell if I know." Hammer cleared his throat loudly and then swallowed it back with a grimace. "Norman's scientists ran their version of a Super Soldier Serum. You could say I wasn't able to resist trying it out for myself. What a bunch of quacks he hired, huh? I sure don't feel _super_."

"Your eyes are looking yellow," said Bruce. "Your liver might be failing."

"I bet you say that to all the boys."

"Justin," said Tony, frustrated. "What are you planning to do?"

Hammer stared back at him, and Bruce saw in his cold, half-lidded eyes the same spark of hatred that had caught his attention when the first met in Tony's penthouse. "I'm going to kill you," he said.

Tony swallowed, and Bruce took his hand and squeezed. "But not yet," Hammer continued. "It'd be kind of a waste to just do it now. I've got one more idea." He wagged his finger at them. "One more idea, you'll see. Not exactly Plan A, but it'll do. It'll do."

Bruce licked his lips and took it upon himself to ask where Tony couldn't. "What happened to you in prison?"

Hammer shrugged against the wall. "Nothing."

"Tell me the truth," said Tony. "You're not going to get another chance."

"No, you don't get it." Hammer leaned forward, bracing himself as the van swerved another corner. " _Nothing_ happened. That's just the problem. _Nothing_." He struggled out of his jacket and tossed it aside; the black undershirt beneath was singed from his sweat. "You see," he said, his voice lowering seriously, "I've done some bad things. You know that, right? Of course you do. Hell, you were right there with me for a few. I made some good connections, but a lot of bad ones, too. I pissed people off. I left debts. Nature of the business, isn't it?" For a moment he looked almost nostalgic, and then his face hardened again. "And then you took it from me."

Tony took a breath, eager to interrupt, but Bruce tugged his hand to keep him quiet. "And then, prison," Hammer went on. "I thought to myself, 'This is it. I'm fucked.' My lawyers got me minimum security, but that only means it's easier to get to you, right? I just knew one of those people I'd pissed off was coming back for me. For three weeks I sat in that cell, fucking terrified. Thought I'd get a spork through my eye, or a toothbrush shank in the ribs, you know? Sometimes I'd break the rules just enough to get put in solitary without hurting my chances of getting out. I'd sit up at night wondering what the big guys in cell 210 would get for killing me. Maybe my life was worth a pack of cigarettes. A porno mag. Rita Hayworth."

He chuckled to himself as if savoring a private joke. Bruce felt sick. He knew where Hammer was headed, but he prodded him on anyway. "But nothing happened."

"Nothing happened." Hammer shrugged again. "No one wanted to kill me. About six weeks in the lawsuits on the company came down, and Norman stated talking takeover. 'Be easier for him if I was dead,' I thought. Still nothing. Not even a nibble. Damn, I was so convinced the Chinese would want me dead. Nothing."

"You're pissed off at me," said Tony incredulously, "because I didn't care enough to have you assassinated?"

Hammer chuckled again and shot Bruce a look. "He doesn't get it. Why am I not surprised?"

Bruce clenched his empty fist, clenched his teeth. He wanted to give Hammer his conclusion. "Tony Stark is king of the world," he said, and it surprised him how much he suddenly wanted Tony to understand. "Everyone knows Tony Stark. They love him, they hate him. He matters."

"Justin Hammer isn't worth a pack of cigarettes," Hammer finished bitterly. "When you _have_ nothing, you _are_ nothing. _That's_ what I learned in prison. And I realized, you have no idea what that's like. Your whole life you've never been invisible." His gaze shifted. "I bet Bruce has."

"By choice," Bruce confessed.

"You're so full of shit," Tony snapped, but his hand was shaking in Bruce's and the hurt in his face was real. "You made your own mistakes. Nothing was taken from you; you threw it away yourself."

"All you had to do that night was stay away," said Hammer.

"You broke a madman out of prison, gave him a loaded gun and a thousand civilians--"

"All you had to do was stay away!" Hammer shouted, saliva burning the corners of his mouth. His eyes and nose began to run with similar, stinging results. "If you hadn't been there, nothing would have happened. Just for one night, I could have mattered! You-- _fuck_."

Hammer turned away, trying to scrub the burning fluids off his face. His breath came fast and panicked, and one of the men came forward to pour a canteen over his head. Tony shifted as he watched, anxious and itching in his skin. Before he could speak, Bruce gave his hand another squeeze.

"Saying anything now won't help," Bruce whispered. "If the serum he took is anything like Ross', it's in his brain by now, affecting his mind." He looked at Tony's face, and the hard lines he found there had him leaning in again. "He's not your fault, Tony. Or your responsibility."

"I know," said Tony, but it didn't sound like he believed it.

***

Peter was getting close to taking matters into his own hands when the van finally slowed. They had reached the west side, with a U-Haul center on one side of the street and a red brick building opposite. A loading door in the building was open, and Peter caught a glimpse of men inside, dressed in mechanic jumpsuits. Instinct told him to bail. A few sharp kicks to Steve's shield dislodged it, and he snatched it up and swung to the U-Haul garage.

"Are you still tracking me?" he asked, hand over his ear as he watched the van pull into the building. The cop cars that had been following at a distance slowed as well, blocking off the street. "The van stopped--it pulled into a building, and it looked like there were guys waiting for them."

"Yes, I have you," said Fury. "We've just confirmed--the same address was found on Norman Osborn's computer. It's caught up in a lot of short-sale bullshit. Could be one of his, or even one of Hammer's."

The mechanics began closing the bay door, and Peter shifted back and forth, even knowing that he wouldn't be able to swing through the closing gap in time. "They have Bruce and Mr. Stark inside. I have to get in there."

"They're certainly not shy," said Steve, and when Peter leaned over the edge of the roof he saw Steve stopping his motorcycle just below him. "This building is right in the open, with business all around it. And the van didn't even try to shake us."

"Black Widow and a team of agents are en route to land on the roof. Thoughts on a more direct entry?"

Peter leapt to the sidewalk and handed Steve his shield back. Steve smiled briefly in thanks and was then talking to Fury again. "The building doesn't look very well fortified from out here, but there's not much to see anyway. The van entered through a shipping entrance. There's also a front entrance, empty, and an alley door on the east wall."

"Working on getting blueprints."

"Captain," Peter said anxiously, "I don't think we can wait much longer if we're going to get Mr. Stark out alive."

Steve frowned between him and the building; Peter could almost see scenarios playing out across his eyes. "Director Fury, do we have permission to engage?"

"Affirmative," Fury said after only a brief pause. "Keep the com as clear as possible."

"Understood." Steve turned to Peter and met his gaze seriously. "Go around to the alley. Find out if you can get in, and wait there for my signal. Once you're inside, immobilize whoever you find and work your way to the lobby. If you run into trouble, say so and stay put. I'll find a way to you."

Peter gathered himself up. "Yes, sir. But uh...what's the signal?"

Steve's lip quirked. "I'm going to knock on the front door," he said. "I'm sure you'll hear it."

***

As soon as the van stopped the back door swung open, and Hammer climbed out with some assistance from his men. There were others in the loading bay, men and women dressed as mechanics, their outfits bulging in suspicious places. Everyone peered in at Bruce and Tony as if they were zoo animals, and Bruce resisted the temptation to bare teeth at them.

"Why the hell did you bring them here?" asked one.

Hammer spat at their feet, and they skidded back, avoiding the splash of acid. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." He waved for Tony and Bruce to follow. "Come on," he said. "I wanna show you something."

"I think I'll take my chances with your friends here," said Tony.

Hammer rolled his eyes and drew his revolver, leveling it at Bruce. The flash of light against the barrel made Bruce grimace, but then Tony moved in front of him. "Okay, okay. Fuck, seriously, Hammer. You don't know what you're doing."

"You're gonna die tonight," Hammer reminded Tony, tugging him out of the van. "So you might as well come see what's in the basement, for Christ's sake." He motioned to one of the men, who grabbed Tony as soon as he was out of the van and cuffed his wrists behind his back. Another reached for Bruce.

"Don't touch me," Bruce growled, and more than the one man stepped back.

"You shouldn't have brought them here," said someone. "Does this mean SHIELD will--"

"What, don't you _want_ to fight SHIELD?" snapped Hammer. "I thought that was the point." He pushed Tony ahead of him and gestured with the gun for Bruce to follow suit.

"Hammer," the man persisted, "this wasn't part of the deal."

"What deal?" Hammer scowled at him over his shoulder and continued to push Tony onward, out of the loading bay. "This is my building. I decide my own guests."

The men began to argue in hushed tones among themselves. Their anxious anger put needles in Bruce's skin, and he stayed close to Tony's side, trying to distract himself from what felt like the onset of a fight. _Breathe_ , he told himself. _Just keep breathing._

Their driver from the van fell into step beside Hammer as they passed through a set of doors, into a maintenance hallway. "Grab your favorites and get out of here," Hammer told him quietly. "Live to fight another day, or whatever. We're more than squared up by this point."

"It's been interesting doing business with you, Mr. Hammer," the man replied. "Good luck." He split off from them and was soon talking into a radio.

The three of them were alone. Bruce considered making a jump for the gun. He was sure he could keep Hammer from shooting Tony, but after that... "Who are those people?" he asked, stalling.

"Professional mercenaries," answered Hammer. "Anarchists. Terrorists." He shrugged, and when they encountered another door, he gesture for Bruce to open it for them. "Former HYDRA, former Russians, former SHIELD, you name it. Remember that alien from a few months ago?"

Bruce and Tony exchanged a look as they passed into another hallway. "These are Loki's men?" asked Tony.

"I guess he promised them all sorts of shit, back when he was planning on being king of the world. Backed the wrong horse on that one, didn't they? After he went down they were stuck in the city. Fortunately for them, Nathan and I go way back. I told him about this place and he rounded them up." Hammer scoffed. "Where did you _think_ they all went after the invasion?"

"South America." Tony made a face. "Barton's gonna be pissed when he gets back."

The hall opened into a lobby, dusty with disuse, a few scattered office supplies behind the front desk. Tony peeked as they passed on their way toward the elevators. "'This place' being what, exactly?"

"Oh, yeah." Hammer laughed but then was interrupted by a sticky cough that made Bruce and Tony cringe. "Fuck. You remember Chelsea?"

"Your ex-wife?"

"Talk about backing the wrong horse." He cleared his throat loudly, and Bruce had to bite his lip hard to keep his focus away from bashing the man's face in. "I bought the company out when she went baby crazy. Made baby monitors and cradles for the future and what have you. Never turned a profit, but it managed to be a half decent front. And now..." He pressed the button for the elevator. "A more than half decent dumping ground."

The door they had come through banged open, and half a dozen of the mercenaries followed them into the hall. "Hammer!" called the one in the lead.

"What did you say before?" Tony muttered. "About pissing people off?"

"Now's not a good time," Hammer called back.

The men continued forward. "We agreed to help you because you said this place would remain secure. If SHIELD comes for them--"

Something crashed in the lobby just as the elevator announced its arrival. While the mercenaries turned toward the entrance Hammer dragged Tony into the elevator and pressed the door close button. Bruce followed them inside without thinking, and as the doors closed them in he caught a glimpse of Captain America's shield careening into the hall.

Steve. Bruce had known he would come, and was sure that Peter was already there as well, somewhere. It still came as a shock and Bruce was breathless as he leaned into the corner.

"I wish I could give you a proper tour," said Hammer as he engaged the elevator with an extra security code, "but it seems that we don't have much time."

"We have plenty of time," said Tony. He was struggling with his handcuffs while trying to look as if he wasn't. "You got me here--you might as well show me everything. When else will you have the chance?"

Hammer smirked at him over his shoulder. "You gonna show me yours next?" he asked as the elevator started down. "Give me a tour of the tower?"

"Oh, sure," Tony grumbled. "I've got all sorts of toys I'd like to show you first hand."

"There is something in that tower I'm especially curious about." Hammer turned toward them. "The other night, when I stopped by? You had that kid up in the penthouse?"

Bruce tensed with a rush of heat. He opened his mouth, intending to tell Hammer to _shut the fuck up_ , but his jaw felt huge and stiff, his teeth gnashing.

"You're not the type that hangs out with interns," Hammer went on, oblivious to him. "It's got me wondering. Was he--"

Bruce couldn't take it anymore. He remembered Hammer clapping Peter on the shoulder and could think of nothing but wrenching arms out of sockets. He wanted blood and marrow. Hate pulled fire over his eyes and his muscles shuddered against his growing bones. The seams of his clothing stretched and finally ripped.

"Bruce!" Tony leaned closer, still struggling with his handcuffs. "Bruce, you have to..." The rest of his words melted into an unintelligible buzz of white noise. Bruce didn't care what he should have been doing. The very thought that he might be denied again turned his blood to bile. He was angry and he wanted everyone to know it, but no one more so than Justin Hammer, gaping at him from beside the elevator panel.

He wanted to ask Hammer if this was what he had wanted after all--if he was happy to meet his death at the hands of the monster he and his cohorts had planned to recreate. But the voice that came out of him wasn't human.

***

Peter had to keep reminding himself not to hold his breath while he waited for Steve's signal. By then a series of cop cars and SHIELD agents had surrounded the building and were working on closing off streets and emptying the nearby buildings. He could hear a chopper overhead and Fury in his ear, passing orders to his agents. The side door he had chosen as his entry point seemed to loom in front of him, and he stared straight back, almost unblinking.

"Breathe, Spider-Man," Fury said.

Peter let his breath out and saw spots in front of his eyes. He shook his head. "Thanks. Um, sir. Sorry."

"You'd doing fine," said Fury, and his gruff surety settled Peter's nerves. "Just get in, find Stark, get out. It's that simple."

"It's that simple," Peter repeated, and for a moment he even believed it. He braced himself against the alley wall. "Totally simple."

His earpiece flared with a sound of shattering glass, followed by men shouting and then gunshots. Peter jolted immediately into action. He snared the wall with his web and swung into the door, breaking it open with both feet. It put up more resistance than he expected, and once he was inside he saw why: it had been crudely boarded shut. What had once been a break room had been packed with boxes and crates, and Peter cursed the loss of momentum as he clamored over them. He kicked open another door and entered a hallway just in time to see two men running toward the lobby with assault rifles. Without thinking he lassoed each in the back of the head and yanked, smacking them together. They fell to the ground and Peter had no trouble jerking their weapons away and knocking both unconscious.

"Captain, I'm in," he said as he retraced the men's footsteps. The room they had come out of was a locker room for maintenance staff, with another crate in the corner that looked perfect for transporting weaponry, but nothing was left. "Two men down and I'm heading your way."

"Stay high," said Steve in between what sounded like his fists connecting to jaws. "They're shooting down the entrance hall to cover their retreat to the stairwell."

Peter reached the end of the hall and stopped at the door, listening. It wasn't easy at first to tell if the gunshots he heard were from the other side or from his earpiece. "Simple," he told himself again, and once the door was open he jumped to the ceiling to crawl through.

The entry floor was exactly the firefight Steve had described. As Steve matched blows in close combat with a few men in the lobby, others were fleeing to the far hall and down the stairs. Four had taken up crouched positions by the elevators to provide cover fire. They were so focused on Steve dancing in and out of their range that none bothered to look up, and Peter managed to web a standing ashtray near the far wall. He whipped it forward, knocking two of the man onto their faces.

The remaining men began shouting in a language Peter didn't recognize and lifted their guns, but then Steve's shield spiraled down the hall and took one of them out. His partner tried to retreat and was taken out by Peter's well-timed dive kick.

Steve joined Peter outside the elevators. He looked like he had barely broken a sweat. "Sir, there are more in here than we originally thought," he reported as he swiftly sabotaged the mercenaries' weapons except for the one assault rifle he kept for himself. "What's Black Widow's status?"

"I'm on six," Natasha reported in. "On my way down."

"Targets are in the stairwell," he warned her. "Don't know yet if they're headed up or down. You might want to--"

He was cut off by what could only be described as a roar. It sent goose bumps prickling up and down Peter's arms and he instinctually crouched down. Even Steve went very still next to him as they listened to the unearthly voice mixed with sounds of crunching metal.

Peter gulped. "That's Bruce, isn't it?"

"Sir," said Steve grimly, "the Hulk is loose."

"Then I suggest you commence with getting Stark and yourselves the hell out of there," replied Fury. "I'll see what I can pull together up top for you."

"Copy that." Steve moved to one side of the stairwell door and motioned for Peter to take the other. "Are you ready for this?"

Peter gave himself a shake and slid into position. "Yeah," he said, willing himself to believe it. "I'm ready."

***

Hammer had to admit, it wasn't what he'd expected.

He backed into the corner and stared as the Hulk took over, green flesh ripping through clothing, muscles and bones expanding. It was terrifying and awe-inspiring, and it wasn't until Tony was at his side, shouting, that it occurred to him to do more than watch the unearthly transformation.

"Open the door!" Tony yelled close to his ear. "Hammer!"

Hammer jabbed at the panel behind him until the door opened, and he and Tony spilled into the hall. Hulk reached after them but he was still changing and wasn't coordinated enough to grab them in time. Once they were outside Hammer took Tony's elbow and together they ran down the narrow hall, dodging crates and cargo. Hammer glanced back only once, and the image of Hulk thrashing made him laugh.

 _If you're that desperate_ , Spider-Man had said, _you could have just stayed in the elevator._

"How much more desperate can I be?" Hammer wondered aloud, and when he spotted a door on the left, he pulled Tony through it.

The room was lined with man-sized robots. Many of them resembled crude Iron Man facsimiles while others were more primitive still, and several were unfeasible even at a glance. Hammer went from one to the next, pushing buttons and flicking switches. The robots hummed with energy, but only a handful were able to step off the line; the others stuttered out or simply fell over.

Tony stared at them incredulously. "You think these are going to do anything against _the Hulk_?"

"They're buying us time," said Hammer. He finished with the robots and grabbed Tony's arm again, dragging him into the next room. It was lined with sentry guns, which had a much easier time powering up than the robots.

"Buying time isn't going to do us any good," Tony said as he followed. "We have to get out of this building."

Hulk bellowed down the hall as if agreeing with him. There was a sound of twisting metal and walls crashing. Hammer shivered despite himself and pulled Tony into yet another room.

"Justin, come on; I know you know better than this. Killing me isn't going to mean anything if you die, too."

"Ignoring you," Hammer muttered as he powered on the last of the droids made during his time with Vanko. Its malfunctioning right arm had prevented it from joining its peers at the expo and thus saved it from self-destruct. Hammer felt a little sorry for it.

A commotion of firing bullets and twisting steel announced Hulk discovering the first room. As soon as Hammer heard it he pulled Tony into the hall, and together they ran back the way they'd come. They were granted a glimpse of Hulk through the ragged opening that had once been a door; he was splitting one of the robots in half over his head, screaming and senseless. He didn't see Hammer and Tony bypass the warped elevator and bound downstairs into the lowest floor.

"Please tell me there's a way out of the building through here," said Tony.

Hammer pulled him into the first room, which was filled with Hammer Industries' less notable relics: war paraphernalia, baby cribs, out of date computers. The only item of note was a pod almost eight feet tall set against the wall, dusty silver with a small, faded Stark Industries logo printed across the bottom.

Tony stopped to stare while Hammer charged it up. His wide, incredulous eyes made Hammer smirk. "That isn't what I think it is," he said.

"Like I know what you're thinking," said Hammer as he finished with the dials and then stripped out of his shirt and shoes.

"You're not getting into that thing."

Hammer shoved him up against the wall. He pulled the handcuff key out of his pocket, and as soon as one of Tony's hands was loose he fought back, kicking and throwing his elbow, but Hammer only had to grab his wrists to stop him. Tony grimaced against his greater strength and the sting from his clammy palms.

"You might not want to punch someone who's sweating acid," Hammer said as he handcuffed Tony to a locker.

Tony struggled at first, but his wrists were already red and raw where Hammer had touched him, and every movement left him hissing. "Justin, wait," he said, his gaze sweeping the room in search of something that could help him. "If you leave me here the Hulk is going to get to me before you do. That's not what you want, is it?"

"Anthony." Hammer stared him straight in the face. "Just stop. You're embarrassing yourself." He gave Tony a smack on the cheek and then turned away, heading for the chamber.

Tony grumbled something under his breath and went back to fighting the handcuffs. Hammer tried not to pay attention, but as he yanked the chamber open he kind of wished, foolishly, that he could have gotten a word of encouragement. The inside of the device was already starting to glow ominously, and when he reached inside, his skin tingled and his hair stood on end. With a deep breath he climbed inside and settled his back against the warming lights.

"It can't make me any worse," he told himself as he yanked the lid closed.

***

Steve lead the way down the stairwell, his shield held out in front of him. Peter followed by crawling on the wall, because it required a tad more concentration and kept his mind off Hulk bellowing somewhere below them. The building shuddered beneath his fingertips. "So, uh, how do we go about changing Bruce back when we find him?" he asked.

"I don't know," Steve admitted. "As far as I'm aware there is no surefire way of stopping the Hulk. Director?"

"I've got agents working on bringing down some of the incapacitating agent Stark keeps at the tower," said Fury. "But you'll have to get him out of the building for us to use it. I'm not sending agents in there."

"I don't want you to," replied Steve. "But if we get Hulk up top that means more buildings and civilians in danger."

"You'll have to use your discretion, soldier."

The first floor landing banged open, and a hand reached through the opening with something strapped to its palm. It glowed, but Steve reacted before it could fire, shattering the device with one powerful thrust of his shield. The man yelped, and Steve yanked him into the stairwell to be knocked out. It left Steve in view of the open door, and bullets sprayed across his shield as he ducked back.

"Multiple targets holed up in the first basement," Steve reported, and he aimed his assault rifle around the corner, a small burst of fire deterring their enemy from inching closer. "Is there a way down other than the south stairwell?"

"Possible maintenance access on the west side," said Natasha. "Keep them busy."

Steve leaned back as another volley was fired into the stairwell. As they waited for it to pass the com blasted static, and Peter winced, dropping to the floor next to Steve. Amidst the blaring noise he heard a scratchy voice struggling to be heard.

Fury was grumbling curses. "We've got some kind of interference on the line. Hold on."

Peter cupped a hand over his ear as Steve went back to shooting. "--hear me--" someone was saying through the static. "--king Hammer--"

"Wait!" Peter said quickly. "Wait, that's Mr. Stark."

The static cleared just enough to make him out. "If anyone can hear this, I'm in basement three. Anyone there? Hulk is--"

He cut out again, and Peter ground his teeth. He sucked in a deep breath and faced Steve. "Captain."

Steve's expression was hard, and he took a moment to answer. "Go," he said at last. "Widow and I will keep your exit clear. Good luck."

"You, too," said Peter, and with another deep breath he swung over the open doorway and continued downstairs.

Hulk was in the second basement. Peter could hear his telltale demolition just beyond the door but he couldn't bring himself to look. _Get Stark, get out,_ he reminded himself as he came out in the third subbasement. _Then worry about Bruce. It's that simple._

Peter stopped in the hall to listen. Even with all the shooting and crashing going on above him, he could hear a high pitched whine laced with a man's voice, screaming. It didn't sound like Tony but it put Peter on edge anyway, and he hurried to follow it. He burst into a nearby room and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Tony, handcuffed but all right. "Mr. Stark!"

"It's about time." Tony pulled against the cuffs. "Get me out of these."

Another shout drew Peter's attention to the tall metal cylinder set against the wall, which was humming and glowing madly. His instincts prickled with a need to escape as he ran to Tony and examined the cuffs. "How were you able to get on the com?"

"Baby monitor," Tony grunted, tossing the pink plastic onto the floor. "I rewired it. You wouldn't believe the shit Hammer has down here--now will you please _get me out_?"

"Okay, okay, hold on." Peter winced at Tony's raw arms as he considered the best way. Finally he gripped each cuff and simply pulled, snapping the chain. "Can you walk?"

"Of course I can walk, I'm not--"

The chamber abruptly silenced. Peter and Tony both turned toward it, breath held, as the door swung open with a loud creak. The angle prevented either of them from seeing the inside, and Peter stepped in front of Tony protectively, determined to protect him from whatever came out.

A man-shaped figure streaked from the chamber with enough force that the instrument was sent spinning off the wall in a dented heap. Peter shot his webbing but the thing was moving too fast, and the next thing he knew a powerful backhand had thrown him off his feet. He crashed into a bin of spare electronics, head spinning nearly off his shoulders. Not even Osborn had hit that hard.

The thing shoved Tony to the floor. It bore only a bare human resemblance and was still changing, its skin peeling away from flat plates of smooth bone. The segments fit together like pieces of armor, scraping against each other with a sickening noise whenever the man-thing moved. Tony tried to drag himself out from underneath it, but the thing grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing him onto his back.

"Well?" Hammer's voice emptied out of the thing. "What do you think?"

Peter still felt dizzy, but he pulled himself out of the bin and dropped to all fours. "Hammer...?"

Hammer turned his head. His hair and skin were gone, leaving a sculpted helmet of bone. Peter could just barely make out a movement of eyes and lips behind narrow slits where the pieces met, like a man in a mask. An exoskeleton.

"Holy fuck," Peter breathed.

Hammer laughed, his jaws clinking. When Tony tried again to get away Hammer pushed him down. "What's the matter?" he drawled, his voice thick and choking. "You don't like my new suit? It's just like yours, you see, except..." He laughed some more. "I made mine out of _me_."

He jerked his head, and a thick glob of saliva spurted through the mouth slit and slapped against Tony's chest. As it hissed through his shirt Peter leapt forward, not sure what he intended to do. Just before he was in range, he was halted by a clap of what sounded like thunder. He skidded to a stop and turned as the wall caved in with a clatter of cement blocks.

Hulk charged through the opening. The sight of him barreling toward them, all huge limbs and angry teeth turned Peter's mind white. On impulse alone he snagged Tony with his webbing and pulled, swinging him out from under Hammer just as he rose to meet Hulk. The two smashed into the opposite wall with an impact that rocked the building to its foundations.

Peter yanked Tony to his feet, and they ran. As soon as they'd clamored over Hulk's ragged entrance, though, Tony stopped, pulling at his shirt. Even after he'd thrown it off there was still a terrible hissing coming from his chest. "Shit," he said, burning his fingertips on the sizzling reactor nestled against his ribs. "It's eating through the reactor."

Hammer flew through the opening, and Peter and Tony were forced to retreat further from the elevator as Hulk clawed after him. They continued their fight in the hall, Hulk yelling angrily when his fists failed to crush Hammer's boney armor. As they grappled and twisted Peter dragged Tony into the next room.

"I've got Stark," he reported, "but we're cutoff from the stairwell. Is there another way up?"

"Maintenance access extends down only as far as basement one," said Natasha.

"We've almost finished with these guys," said Steve. "We'll be on our way--wait for us."

"Affirmative. Okay. Whatever." Peter turned to relay the news to Tony and found he was moving up and down the room, tossing things off shelves. "Mr. Stark?"

Tony pulled a file out of a tool box and, to Peter's shock, jammed it into his chest. "The seal is melting," he said, waving Peter closer. "Help me pop this thing out."

"Help you _what_?" Peter hurried over, and with Tony's guidance helped pry the glowing, crackling reactor out of its casing. It came free with a crack that had Peter wincing, and he had to hold it carefully to keep Hammer's saliva off his suit. "Now what?"

Tony snatched the reactor from him and turned, throwing it through the open door they had just come through. It was pretty obvious what was about to happen, so Peter grabbed Tony and pulled them both behind a storage bin. The reactor discharged with a blinding flash of light that flooded the hall. For a few brief seconds the room was lit in a sharp contrast of white against black shadows, and then the lights went out--all the lights, leaving Tony and Peter in near perfect darkness.

"Oh, man." Peter blinked into the nothing around them. "Did that just discharge an EMP?"

"Something like it. But the range shouldn't have been more than a floor." Tony felt out around them. "It must have fried the fuse box."

Peter tugged his mask up. He could only make out the barest shapes in the room even with his heightened senses, but he had no trouble hearing Hulk and Hammer, still having it out a room or two over. "Captain, do you read?" He tapped his earpiece and heard nothing. "Damn."

Tony was up again, pawing blindly over the shelves. It was then that Peter caught on. "Hey," he said, "didn't you, uh, need that thing? To live?"

"I need an electromagnet," Tony said, his voice sharp. He winced loudly as his hand struck something. "Shit, I can't see anything."

Peter joined him, tossing aside baby rattles and fried circuit boards until they found the head of a discarded robot. Peter broke off an already sheared piece of metal and twisted it into a loop; Tony wound it in a length of copper wire, also provided by Peter, saying, "We need a power source."

"A battery." Peter went back to searching the shelves until his hands bumped against a familiar plastic shape. He felt out the buttons and antennae, and even though the device remained silent he tore it open.

"What is it?" Tony asked, and though he was trying hard not to sound anxious, Peter could hear his strain.

"Another baby monitor." Peter plucked the battery out, and then felt around in the tool box they'd already discovered for electrical tape. "There's a chance the battery didn't fry."

"Jesus. Okay, just be careful you don't--"

Peter affixed the battery and shoved the whole thing into the hole in Tony's chest. Tony jumped with a yelp, and he latched both hands onto Peter's shoulders. His entire body went tight and still. Peter remained still as well, letting Tony catch his breath. "Mr. Stark?"

"I'm..." Tony pressed a hand to his chest, and three deep breaths later he gave Peter a tug. "I'm all right," he said. "Didn't cut an artery open, anyway. Let's get out of here."

Peter tugged his mask back on. "All right. Stay close to me--I can still see a little."

As Peter led him to the door, Tony gave his shoulder another tug. "It's not exactly an elbow joint," he said, "but I think you've got the job."

"You're damn right I do." Peter smiled to himself. "And you're welcome, by the way."

The hall was unexpectedly quiet. Peter braced himself in the doorway, listening up and down for some sign of the monstrous combatants. He could hear breathing. Somewhere at the far end of the hall, Hulk was breathing slowly, in and out, in great heaves of air. He thought about calling out to him but stopped himself, shivering with the memory of Hulk charging through the shattered wall. The few times he had seen Hulk, he had never looked like that--never so vengefully out of control.

"Can you see Hammer?" Tony whispered.

"No." Peter stepped into the hall and felt Tony follow close behind. "Let's make a run for the stairwell."

They ran together. Peter heard heavy footfalls behind them, and though he knew it was Hulk and that he shouldn't be afraid, he didn't stop. He hit the closed doors of the elevator and then swiftly felt out the door he had come through, shoving Tony ahead of him. "Go!" he shouted. "I'm right behind you!"

They only made it up a few steps before Tony ran into something. "It's me," said Natasha before he started struggling. Peter could only just make out the shape of her in the darkness. "Are you both all right?"

"We're okay," said Peter, giving Tony another push. "Just get Mr. Stark out of here!"

Something grabbed Peter from behind. He thought at first that it was Hulk, but then he tasted the bitter, acid smell at the back of his throat. He wasn't able to get out more than a squawk as he was heaved back through the stairwell door and landed on his chest.

"Spider-Man?" called Natasha.

"Just go!" Peter rolled to the side barely in time to avoid Hammer's stomping heel. "Get Stark out--he's our priority!"

Hammer reached for him again, and again he dodged, throwing himself up against the wall. He was able to dodge twice more before Hammer snagged him around the waist with his too-long hands and punched, sending them both crashing through the elevator doors and onto the smashed wreckage of the elevator itself.

Peter landed hard on his back, and then Hammer was crowding over him, a hard and twisted mass of bone. When he laughed, Peter could hear his saliva sizzling against the metal below them. "Spider-Man," he said hoarsely. "You can't help but attract monsters, can you?"

"Seems that way," said Peter, and when he tried to fire his web Hammer grabbed him across the chest with one massive hand, slamming him down. The blow to the back of his head made the black world turn white. He pushed weakly at Hammer's jagged fingers and was hit again. The nothingness around him spun and tilted, and he groaned.

"I don't want to kill you," said Hammer. "But if you're going to keep getting in the way, I--"

Hammer cut off with a squeal, and Peter was pulled roughly forward for a brief moment before he was let go. Dizzily he pushed himself into a corner of the shaft and listened to the fight being carried out in the hallway above: Hulk growling, Hammer shrieking, and tremendous percussions of meat, bone, and concrete. When Peter tried to get his arms under him, his elbows shuddered and gave out.

His already dull surroundings slipped out of focus. Peter concentrated on each slow breath, unable to do much but wait until his strength returned. _One too many blows to the head,_ he thought. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he felt himself rising--felt a warm body drawing him in. Wary but helpless, he didn't try to fight as he was tucked into one great arm, and then he was rising again, his living chariot carrying him up the elevator shaft.

Peter pressed his ear to the expanse of skin and heard a strong, steady heartbeat. It helped put him back together. "Bruce...?"

Hulk grunted. He was climbing up the shaft using only one arm and his feet, his fingers and toes crunching into the metal where no ladder would have held him. When Peter was able to fully comprehend what was going on, he flattened himself to Hulk's chest and stuck in place, allowing Hulk the use of his other arm. He could feel Hulk's hot breath across the top of his scalp.

"Hulk," he said, but still Hulk only grumbled unintelligibly and kept climbing. Peter nestled closer, uncertain if he should be relieved yet. It wasn't like the first time he had ridden along with Hulk, close against his back as they hopped rooftops together. Hulk was still tense with rage, his nostrils flaring, his sweaty skin quivering over his muscles. He was a beast, but at least for the moment he was _Peter's_ beast, and the thought made Peter feel a little safer.

It didn't last long. They hadn't even reached the lobby when Peter heard a scream from below, followed by more crunching metal. Caught between Hulk and the wall he had no way of looking down, but he _knew_ Hammer was following them. "Doesn't this asshole ever give up?" he muttered.

Hulk jerked to a halt; his foot was wrenched from the wall, and he lost his grip with one hand. As he spun in the shaft Peter caught a glimpse of Hammer's flashing, yellow eyes. The jaws of Hammer's boney armor split apart and then came back together around Hulk's ankle, wrenching from Hulk an angry shout and a splash of blood.

Peter shot Hammer in the face with his webbing, aiming for the spot of yellow. Hammer reeled back, and a kick from Hulk tossed him down a floor. With an impatient growl Hulk resumed his climb, arms and legs pumping at a faster pace. Peter pressed himself flat again, listening as Hammer struggled to keep up. Twice more Hammer caught them, and each time they repelled him, thrashing in the small space, but Hammer still wouldn't give up. Hulk's blood splattered over his head and chest, painting him green.

When they reached the top, Hulk kicked open the elevator doors and leapt into the hall. Peter started to climb off but Hulk wouldn't let him, shielding Peter with one broad arm as he smashed his way into the stairwell. There wasn't much room for him but he shouldered up anyway, until they were finally on the roof. Only when they were facing a SHIELD helicopter with Natasha and Tony climbing aboard did Hulk finally let Peter slip free.

Peter's knees wobbled once his feet were on solid ground again. The morning sunlight was such a change from the pitch black basement that he winced against it even felt a little faint. He turned toward Hulk and wanted to say something, a thank you or something more meaningful, but then Hammer was clawing his way onto the roof. With a grunt Hulk nudged Peter toward the helicopter and then turned, seemingly eager to meet his grotesque enemy again.

"Spider-Man!" Natasha was shouting from the side of the chopper. "Move it!"

Peter hesitated a moment longer, watching as Hulk and Hammer exchanged blows. By the time he turned back the helicopter had taken off, but he had no trouble swinging up to it. Natasha and Tony helped pull him into the vehicle's belly as they gained altitude.

Peter caught his breath and then asked, "What about the Captain?"

"He's fine," said Natasha. She had to lean close to his ear to be heard over the blades of the chopper. "He's dragging the mercenaries out through the lobby."

Tony wrapped his arm around a safety belt but stayed close to the open door, watching the battle below. Peter joined him and could only stare dizzily at the spectacle; Hammer had somehow grown larger still, making him nearly a match for the Hulk as they spun and grappled across the roof. It almost looked as if Hammer was trying to aim for Hulk's injured foot, spilling more of his blood.

"God, look at him," said Tony. It sounded like he pitied him. "Oscorp sure knows how to make a serum."

"The radiation in the Hulk's blood is causing him to mutate," said Natasha, and as if to prove her right Hammer's shoulders broadened with a cracking sound. "It happened before, with Blonsky."

Peter couldn't tear his eyes from the fight. "There has to be something we can do," he said. "I can't just--"

Hulk jumped, and when he landed his fists came down on Hammer's back, smashing him into the roof--through the roof--collapsing concrete and metal, and they both fell through. The impact resonated for a seemingly impossible distance, blowing out windows down through the floors and shaking the buildings nearby. Everyone fell quiet, watching the explosive evidence of the battle taking place.

"Cap," Fury said through a radio hanging on the wall of the chopper. "If you're still inside you had better get out, _now_. That building is coming down."

"Are they out?" asked Steve.

Natasha grabbed up the radio. "We're clear. Widow, Stark, and Spider-Man secured and withdrawing."

"You hear that, Cap? Get out of there."

Peter leaned out of the helicopter and felt Tony's hand on his back, steadying him. He saw a figure dart out of the lobby far below but he couldn't be sure that it was Steve. Seconds later, something boomed from deep within the building. It was followed by a rumble and a terrible crash, and the entire western wall sagged on the foundation.

"All units, withdraw!" Fury was shouting into the radio. "Get those cops back--get everyone away!"

The entire building was coming down, bricks collapsing in sheets, glass clattering onto the pavement. "It's okay," Tony was saying close by. "Even that's not enough to hurt him." But Peter still held his breath as he watched it come down in a cascade of smoke and debris.

***

For several minutes after the wreckage settled everything was quiet and black. It should have been a relief. He couldn't hear his enemy, couldn't see a slender, young body leaping through doorways, couldn't taste blood or smoke or acid. There was only the soothing, heavy pressure against his wide shoulders. There was welcoming darkness. There was no reason to keep fighting.

But then there was a pulse beneath the rubble. Somewhere to his left, brick slabs fell away from a mass clawing its way upward. The enemy was still alive; he could smell its bitterness amidst the burning electricity and dust. It made him angry. He reached over his head and pulled, splintering drywall and wooden beams. He shoved with his feet and twisted his torso and tossed cement blocks away as if they were children's toys. He wasn't finished, and he was angry that he wasn't finished, angry with the thought that he might _never_ be finished--

The earth gave way above him, and Hulk dragged himself out onto the heap. He hadn't even cleared his knees when Hammer pounced on him from behind, digging his bony fingers into his throat. It made him angry. Hulk reached behind him with both hands and squeezed Hammer's ugly head. It didn't pop; drool burned Hulk's palms and it made him _angry_ and he _heaved_ \--

Hammer sailed over him, landing on his back in the rubble. He clamored to his feet, hissing and spitting, bile oozing from his joints. Nothing human was left of him. An extra dose of radiation had mutated him into a brute, broad and ragged and almost impenetrable, but he had stopped his laughing taunts. He probably didn't even have it in him to beg for the death he deserved. He was pathetic. He had had everything taken from him, and in the end given up his last shred, but for what? To fight another monster? Even this fight wouldn't make him matter.

It made Hulk _furious_ and he charged. They met fist for fist in the destruction they had created, pawing at the ground with their feet for greater leverage. Hammer found it first, heaving Hulk off balance with a turn of his body. They rolled together in a flurry of grasping hands and bared teeth. Punch after punch connected, neither of them concerned with defense. Each impact blurred Hulk's senses but he fought on anyway, prying at the slabs of bone. When the plate covering Hammer's left collar split with a dry crack it should have been a victory, but Hulk wasn't satisfied. He didn't think he ever would be.

 _Hulk doesn't pop_ , he wanted to say, but all he could do was scream as he gripped Hammer's arm in an attempt to crush its joints. _Hulk smashes._

Hammer lunged at him, his jaws parting in a shark-like maw. Hulk had seen it coming and he pivoted, using Hammer's momentum and some of his own to fling him across the street and into a line of trucks next door. There were men nearby, shouting and scattering, but Hulk barely registered their presence; all he saw was Hammer, climbing out of the moving truck he had dented. Hulk pursued, punching him in the face, the chest, trying to dent and cave the exoskeleton. This thing beneath his fists had hurt those precious to him--had tried to _take_ from him. Even when Hammer's struggles grew weaker he didn't stop, throwing him through walls and hitting him with the trucks. He hated Hammer so much that nothing he did could expel the sensation from him.

Hammer stumbled into the street, his body fractured and battered, his toxic blood on the pavement. Hulk stalked after him dragging along one of the U-Haul trucks. With the back door ripped off he wielded it like a net over an insect, trapping Hammer inside. _Hulk smashes_ , he thought as he wrapped his arms around the carriage and squeezed with all his might. _Hulk smashes_ , he thought as the frame buckled, drawing in tight around his wailing prey. _Hulk smashes, Hulk smashes--_

__

Something struck him in the back of the head. Hulk turned, but only because Hammer had finally shut up. A thick, yellow gas was pouring out of a canister at his feet. He stared at it, uncomprehending for several moments, but then his knees started to give out. He knew what it was--he had made it. Someone was trying to use his own weapons against him.

The gas poured into his nose, and Hulk wavered, dropping onto all fours. But it wasn't enough. He was still so full of hate, his blood still hot and fast and aching with the terrible pressure of it, and he wanted to get it out. One building wasn't enough. Maybe the entire city wouldn't be enough to run him dry, but his pulsing muscles were eager to make the attempt.

He hated everything and he wanted everything to feel it.

***

"The Hulk is down," someone was reporting over the com. "It's working--he's down."

Peter's hands ached as he gripped the edge of the chopper. His heart was pounding in his ears, and he felt as if he was still pressed against Hulk's warm and heaving chest. Though they were far away he could almost sense the tremors rippling across Hulk's skin.

"No it's not," he said, but then he had to take a deep breath and try again for anyone to hear him. "It's not working--he's not down!"

"Pull up!" Natasha ordered into the radio. "Get out of range _now_!"

Hulk stood and grabbed the truck he had made into Hammer's cage, ripping the engine block free. A clap of his hands smashed it into a disc. "Bank left," Natasha was ordering the chopper that had fired the gas canister. "Bank left--get away from the buildings!" Peter clutched the chopper door and made sure Tony was secure as their own chopper rose and swerved, desperate to stay out of Hulk's path.

Hulk tossed the engine. Thanks to Natasha's quick orders it missed the belly of the chopper, though it did rip off one of the landing struts. As the pilot struggled to maintain control, Peter watched the engine fly over the parkway and land in the river over a hundred yards away.

He looked back to Hulk, expecting a second attempt, but Hulk had already moved on; he was ripping apart the other U-Haul trucks, flinging them into each other, into the building, into the street. He had lost his mind and he wouldn't stop. Peter shivered, trying to reconcile the monster he was seeing with the tender giant from Bruce's bedroom. Only hours ago he had been cradled in the hands that were currently tearing support beams out of the U-Haul garage. It made no sense and he couldn't breathe.

"Peter." Tony squeezed his shoulder, and when Peter looked, he was caught off guard by his solemn expression. "That's still Bruce in there."

Peter gulped. He looked again and despite the carnage Hulk was wreaking, he suddenly understood how right Tony was. With a deep breath he turned to Natasha. "My earpiece is dead."

Natasha opened a case near the chopper seats and pulled out a spare. Once she had set it to the right frequency Peter swapped out his fried one. The first thing he heard was Steve, coordinating the retreat of the officers and their captives. "I'll cover you," he was saying. "Don't stop within four blocks. If he gets moving there's no telling how far he'll go."

"Captain, it's Spider-Man," said Peter, drawing his legs in under him in preparation. He took another deep breath to steel himself. "Permission to engage the Hulk?"

Steve was quiet for a moment, and then Peter saw him swerve out of a side street atop his motorcycle. Though he had his face upturned toward the helicopter, Peter couldn't make out his expression. "Granted," he said. "But we'll do this together. The highway's been blocked at both ends--let's draw him there."

"I copy," said Peter. He nodded to Tony and Natasha. "Wish me luck."

Tony nodded back but didn't seem to know what to say, so Natasha gave his shoulder a clap. "Go to it."

Peter leapt from the helicopter. He didn't know yet what to do, but he started by swinging down to the roof of the U-Haul, which was sagging and close to collapse. Hulk had moved on and was using a Ford truck as a battering ram against a building on the corner. As Peter weighed his options Steve drove out into the emptied street. He dropped his shield into his hand and flung it like a discus; it bounced off the back of Hulk's skull and spiraled back into its owner's hand. It didn't seem to do any damage, but Hulk did drop the truck and turn, his cheeks puffing angrily.

"You said you would prove it to me!" Steve shouted, fitting the shield back on his arm. He revved the motorcycle. "I'm waiting!"

Hulk snarled and charged. At the same time Steve shot away from him, leaving rubber on the pavement as he led Hulk through an intersection and onto the parkway that lined the river. Peter gave chase, but there wasn't anything over the parkway for him to swing from, leaving him to slingshot across building tops.

"Maybe teasing him isn't the best approach," he said as he propelled himself over a billboard.

"We need to keep him focused on us, not civilians," Steve said over the whine of the motorcycle engine. "Be careful, Spider-Man. He's not Dr. Banner right now."

Peter clenched his jaw. _You guys can't even agree on that._ He wanted to say something back, but then Hulk veered to the side, yanking a hunk of concrete off the parkway barrier. Without breaking stride he brought his arm back and heaved.

"Dodge left!" Peter shouted, watching the projectile sail out of the range of his shooters. "Left, Cap, left!"

Steve swerved left, and the concrete missed him by less than two feet, gouging a trough in the road. Deciding he couldn't wait any longer, Peter snared the far corner of a building ahead of him and swung down, carefully timing his cut of the lines so that he landed against Hulk's back. Hulk didn't seem to even notice.

 _You can do this,_ Peter thought as he leaned in to Hulk's ear. _It's still Bruce._ "Hulk, it's me," he said, feeling Hulk's muscles stretch and contract beneath his splayed fingers. "It's Peter. It's all right, now; you can stop."

Hulk growled low in his throat. He gave a short hop, his feet skidding with the landing, his knees bending. When he jumped the force was tremendous, and Peter had to divert all his concentration to staying rooted on his back. They sailed for what felt like miles, and then Hulk crashed down again, throwing up chunks of the road. Peter couldn't hold on. As Hulk planted his feet and spun in a circle Peter was thrown off, scraping his elbows and knees. He tumbled over and over, finally coming to a halt when he managed to stick his palms to the ground. With a groan he lifted his head.

Hulk had landed in front of Steve, and though Steve tried hard to veer out of the way, Hulk snatched the motorcycle right out from under him. A well-executed tuck and roll saved him from the same jarring landing Peter had suffered, and he immediately leapt to his feet, just in time to dodge his own motorcycle being swung at him like a bat. With every miss Hulk grew angrier still, and his swings became faster and more erratic. Steve used his shield to protect himself from taking more than a glancing blow, but Hulk simply had more leverage and more power, and Peter could almost see the inevitable blow.

Peter jumped into the fray. He webbed Hulk's hands, but the line barely had time to snap taut before Hulk was tearing it apart; even with the improved, synthetic webbing he was simply too strong. Peter didn't give up, though. He jumped over Hulk's head and dove through his legs, shooting and leaping and doing everything in his power to distract him. Steve joined in, parrying Hulk's grasping hands with the shield. Hulk was far more interested in him than in Peter, and for a moment it seemed that they might be able to wear him down chasing Steve, at least enough for Peter's webbing to hold.

Steve jabbed his shield into the back of Hulk's wounded ankle, and he fell, groaning and panting. It looked like the perfect opportunity, so Peter jumped onto Hulk's back again. When Hulk put his hand on his knee, trying to push himself up, Peter webbed the limbs together. He was about to aim for the other side when Hulk reached back and grabbed him by the arm. The world tilted crazily as Peter was flung away. Only a lucky shot of the webbing stopped him from crashing into the concrete barrier, and even so his back hit the ground with a painful smack.

Steve didn't relent, and even managed to smash his shield into Hulk's face. Hulk reared back, roaring with the insult. He pulled against the webbing that had his hand trapped, and when it broke free the extra momentum was just what he needed to catch Steve around his hips. He shoved Steve into the ground and left cracks. His face full of rage, he lifted his other fist.

Peter's mind went blank. Operating on instinct alone he webbed Hulk's chest and pulled, flinging himself forward until he was crouching protectively over Steve. "Hulk, stop!" he shouted as a great green fist filled his entire view. "Bruce, _please, stop!_ "

The fist hit, spreading great cracks in the road just behind Peter's back. He felt the earth shift beneath him but he was all right--breathless, shaking, but all right. Steve's hand was tight around his elbow but he ignored him for the moment, staring up at Hulk as he in turn stared at them in wide-eyed confusion.

Peter forced himself to take a breath and said, "It's okay." He swallowed, depending on the strength of Steve's chest under his hand to turn toward Hulk. "It's okay," he said again. He pulled off his mask. "It's me, Hulk. It's Peter. Can you see me?"

Hulk continued to stare at him, his nostrils still flared as he sucked in great huffs of air through his teeth. Slowly, an understanding seemed to come over him. His jaw worked stiffly. "Peter," he mumbled.

"Yeah." Peter smiled shakily and began to straighten up. "Yeah, it's me. You remember me, right? It's okay now. You--"

All at once a look of panic came over Hulk, and with a pained moan he turned away. "No no no--wait!" Peter called, and before Hulk could get too far he webbed his shoulder and swung around ahead of him. "No, wait," he said again, and he webbed Hulk's other shoulder just to be sure. "It's okay. It's okay, I know. Don't go." Tears spilled over his cheeks as he gave Hulk a tug with the lines. "Please, just...it's okay. It's over."

Hulk moaned again, a look of shame streaking his face, but then Peter tugged and he dropped to his knees. He lifted his suddenly trembling hands and curved them behind Peter's back, afraid to actually touch him. "Peter," he uttered, lowering his head. "Peter."

Peter stood up on his toes so he could wrap his arms around Hulk's thick neck. "I know," he said, turning his face against Hulk's cheek. "I know--it's okay, now. I've got you."

Hulk slumped, and though Peter could still feel his pulse hammering in the veins across his forehead, his huge muscles grew soft and slack. Bit by bit he surrendered without paying any attention to Steve, climbing to his feet behind them, or the helicopters swooping closer overhead. Inch by inch, Hulk melted away, until it was just Bruce collapsing into Peter's welcoming arms.

"I'm sorry," whispered Bruce, burrowing into Peter's chest with a whimper. "I'm so sorry."

Peter wrapped him up. "It's okay," he repeated. There was so much else to say, but then Bruce went limp in his arms. Peter held him until the cavalry moved in.


	16. Chapter 16

"I already told you, I'm giving you permission to speak plainly," said Director Fury. "So let's have it. What do you really think of all this?"

Agent Maria Hill crossed her arms over her chest. She looked like she would have rather been pacing. "I think you're overstepping again," she said. "I think you're turning what is supposed to be a tactical base of operations into a freak show of hopeless cases. I think I'm going to have a hell of a time trying to explain all this to the council, and I think you're letting a personal bias override your judgment." Her gaze snapped to her left. "Both of you."

"Well, Captain?" said Fury, turning to Steve. "What do _you_ really think of all this?"

"Anything I have to say is already in the report I submitted, sir," he replied precisely.

"He's too young for this," Hill carried on. "And he's reckless. He hasn't been properly tested or trained. And SHIELD can't afford to start making deals with street-level vigilantes; it's just not what we do."

"It hasn't been," said Fury, "but it's not as if we haven't made compromises and allowances in the past. For example, our guest Dr. Banner."

Hill was already shaking her head. "Dr. Banner is an exception and we all know why. We're talking about an eighteen year old kid."

"With all due respect, Agent Hill," interrupted Steve, "you don't know him."

"And with all due respect to you, Captain, I'm surprised that you think that matters."

Fury looked to Steve again, and was just curious enough to say, "She does have a point. He's young. And you were singing a very different tune a few hours ago."

Steve squared his shoulders. "I can admit when I'm wrong."

"Then you stand by your report?"

"I wouldn't have submitted it if I didn't intend to, sir."

Fury raised his eyebrows in Hill's direction, and with a sigh she let her arms fall. "There's no point in me arguing, is there?" she said. "You've already made up your mind."

"Like the captain said: you don't know him." He smiled. "I'll introduce you, soon. I think you'll like him."

Hill could recognize Fury-facetious from a mile away, and she had to struggle not to roll her eyes. "Regardless, I'd like my objections noted."

"Naturally."

"And the council?" Steve asked carefully.

Hill looked offended. "You don't have to worry about that, Captain."

The phone on Fury's desk buzzed, and he set it to speaker. "Sir," reported Agent Han, "Alpha-7 is docking."

Steve straightened up. "Do you mind if I handle that, Director Fury?" he asked.

Fury shooed him out. "Go ahead. We'll meet you on the bridge. Dismissed."

As soon as Steve had left, Fury move out from behind his desk and walked with Hill into the hall. "I understand your reservations," he said. "Your objections have been noted. Don't worry; I'm not saying this is going to be the start of something larger."

"Of course it is," said Hill, and for all her cynicism she sounded momentarily wistful. "It always is. That's why you need me."

"That's why I need you," Fury conceded, and after exchanging a nod of understanding, they separated.

Fury made his way down to the medical center. A nurse led him to triage where Peter Parker was sitting up on an examining table, dressed in a hospital gown. He was trying to peer out of a port hole, his eyes half lidded and shoulders slack. He looked exhausted and Fury wondered for a moment if he had made the right decision. Then Peter turned, and his back straightened with a second wind of energy. "Director Fury, sir."

"'Sir' _or_ 'Director Fury' is enough," said Fury. "How are you feeling?"

Peter slid to the edge of the bed. "All right, I guess." He stretched his shoulders and back with a wince. "Just sore, mostly. Sir."

"Then you're up for a walk." Fury opened a nearby drawer and pulled out a SHIELD T-shirt and sweats. "Get dressed and meet me in the hall when you're ready."

***

Peter was almost grateful for how tired he was; if not for how heavy his eyelids already felt, he would have been gaping in astonishment at everything. Landing on the Helicarrier had been mostly a blur, with Bruce carted off on a stretcher and Steve herding him inside, followed by the prodding nurses and doctors. He hadn't had time to properly appreciate that he was in SHIELD's lair--or however they referred to it. At the moment he was being led down steel hallways, past uniformed crewmembers and gleaming portholes that showed miles of blue ocean. He caught glimpses of pristine labs and unusual weapons, of pressed, dark suits and full tactical gear. It was overwhelming, but seeing Fury's tall, straight back reminded him to keep his composure.

"Director Fury," he said, and as they passed another doorway he couldn't help but peek inside. It looked like a loading bay, and he squashed his disappointment. "Um...where's Dr. Banner?"

"He's all right, Parker," said Fury. "Don't worry about that right now. There's someone else that's looking forward to seeing you."

Peter frowned with the possibilities, and he increased his pace to walk at Fury's side. "Who?"

"You'll see."

They passed through a security checkpoint, and though the guard fixed Peter with a curious eye, Fury's presence kept him from commenting. They were in what looked like a science wing, with reinforced doors and emergency stations lining the halls. Fury took him to a door labeled M and had to input an extra security code. The room inside held several tall, glass tubes, each filled with pale yellow liquid enveloping a human--or mostly human--figure. The two on the left Peter didn't recognize, but next to them was the pinkish, spiny form of Norman Osborn, and next to him, the cracked, bony plates of Justin Hammer.

Peter stopped and stared. Somehow, staring down the trapped, unconscious monster that Hammer had become was more intimidating than the rampaging one. In the clear, bright lights of the lab it was easy to see every seam between the plates, every chip and fracture rendered by Hulk's massive fists. The areas around his joints had been bleached and scarred by his acidy blood and his jaw was broken and askew. Tubes ran into the slits marking his nostrils and mouth. Remembering how he had once been, witnessing the outcome gave Peter a chill.

"I believe you've already met," said Fury, and Peter grimaced, thinking it a poor joke, but then he realized that a man in a lab coat was approaching. Peter blinked in surprise. "Dr. Connors?"

Curt's smile was guilty and almost shy as he came forward, but when Peter dumbly extended his hand, he shook it. "Peter," he said, in his voice a mix of emotion. "It's good to see you well."

"You, too." Peter looked him up and down and was relieved to see no trace of tail or scale. "You're, um...clean?"

"Yes, I'm fine." He glanced to Fury. "More than fine, honestly."

"When SHIELD responded to the Woodside incident, we were able to take custody of Dr. Connors," he said. "It took some work, convincing the FBI to back off, but we managed to come to a deal. Dr. Connors will be carrying out the rest of his sentence under my supervision."

Peter glanced between them incredulously and settled on Curt. "You work for SHIELD now?"

"As something of an indentured servant, you might say," said Curt with a touch of humor. He quickly grew serious again. "Director Fury was even kind enough to let me video chat with my family. You don't know what it means to me, to let Billy see me outside of a prison uniform. I owe that to you, Peter."

"But I didn't...." Peter shifted his weight. "I mean, I'm happy for you. But I didn't do anything."

"According to Agent Romanoff, Dr. Connors here saved your life," said Fury. "You vouched for him, and so did Dr. Banner. I might not have fought as hard for him as I did if not for that."

Curt nodded to Peter gratefully. "Thank you."

Peter swallowed down a lump of emotion. "You're welcome. I'm glad. I'm really glad you're okay." His gaze drifted back to the tubes. "So you're working on _them_?"

"That's the other reason I fought to have him," said Fury.

Curt turned toward the captured men, and when Peter stepped up beside him, he put his hand on Peter's shoulder. He appreciated it. "Each is a very particular puzzle," he said. "No two of them were exposed to the same serum, or the same procedure. But I promised Director Fury I would do my best to solve them. It's the least I can do, considering the chance I've been given."

Peter chewed his lip as he stared at the inert Hammer. "He's still alive."

"Yes. Barely." Curt shook his head. "To be honest, I don't know yet if he'll survive. The Oscorp serum wreaked havoc on his systems, not to mention the damage he sustained from battling the Hulk. So far we haven't been able to secure a copy of the formula from Oscorp, and with the vita-ray chamber destroyed in the battle, there's no way for us to study its process or effects, either."

"In short, you have no idea how to fix him," Peter surmised.

"I'm afraid not. He was already in a coma when he arrived, but he's being fed a chemical agent to make sure he stays that way." He glanced at Peter's face and added, "He's not aware of anything. He's not going to wake up."

Peter stared up at the broken creature and swallowed hard. He felt he understood then the pity he had seen in Tony's face on the chopper. "Sweet dreams, Mr. Hammer," he muttered.

He and Curt shared good byes and good lucks, and then Fury led him out of the science wing. "Dr. Connors mentioned that Dr. Banner visited him in prison," Fury said as they returned to the long hallways. "They discussed _your_ curious mutation."

Peter folded his arms and stared straight ahead. "Is he...am I one of the guys he's 'working on'?"

"I didn't have a sample of your blood to give him." Fury watched him out of the corner of his eye. "We can help you, Parker, if you want. I know Dr. Banner has already put some research into it himself, but there are others with greater experience in that area."

"Others like Dr. Connors?"

"Others."

Peter was quiet. He didn't know what to say or think, and part of him wanted to go back to the infirmary to sleep. "I don't know, sir," he said at last. "I'm not sure I'm ready to know the answer."

"I don't have any answers for you," Fury admitted. "In my experience, searching for answers is a waste of time. Searching for knowledge is something else, though." Peter was working up the courage to ask what he meant when Fury said, "I knew your father."

Peter stopped walking to stare at him, but Fury didn't break stride, and he had to force himself to keep up. "Excuse me, what?"

"Not well," Fury corrected himself. "He was a well-respected scientist in his field. I tried once or twice to recruit him for SHIELD, but he already had everything he needed at Oscorp. We get turned down fairly often around here, actually. He was worried about what sort of things 'the government' would ask of him." He shook his head. "Smart man."

Peter continued to stare openly. He felt light-headed and wasn't sure how he was supposed to react. "Then...when he died..."

Fury shook his head again. "I thought he was finally accepting my offer," he said. "He asked if I would meet with him and his wife--your mother. I agreed, of course, but their plane went down before reaching the meeting point." He finally stopped walking so he could face Peter with his full seriousness. "I wish I could tell you we were able to prove it was sabotage," he said in a lowered voice. "If I could tell you that it was Osborn and that we pulled his asshole trigger men in, I would. But the world doesn't always work that way. You know that pretty well by now, don't you, Parker?"

Peter clenched his fists at his sides. "Yes, sir."

"At least we've got him on this." Fury started walking again, and somehow Peter managed to follow. "Your old man's got that to be happy about."

"So you..." Peter swallowed hard. "You don't know anything about _me_ , then?"

"I know plenty about you, Peter Parker."

They passed a set of guards, through wide, automatic doors onto the Helicarrier's bridge. Peter was jarred out of the heavy conversation by the sight: two dozen uniformed agents were seated at the various monitors, scrolling through files almost faster than Peter could follow. Some bustled from station to station with tablets while others talked into their headsets in a variety of languages. Everything was polished and urgent and just what he would have expected from the heart of a military base.

Fury stepped to his command position, and was acknowledged by his agents with nods and, in a few cases, a salute. Their eyes on Peter were curious but not judgmental as he hesitantly joined him. His chest swelled until he thought it would burst, and he felt like more of a child than ever that he had aspired to being a part of what he was witnessing.

"I want to make you an offer," said Fury, leaning back against his station in a way that seemed entirely too casual. "It's not a full initiation into the Avengers. Some would even say it's better."

Peter gaped openly. "Better?"

"The Avengers Initiative was a paramilitary project," Fury explained. "To make you a member officially would mean reclassifying your file. I would be forced to report you to my superiors and disclose information about you that I would rather not. You and your family would be exposed a level of scrutiny I think you would prefer not to be."

"You have superiors?" Peter said dumbly.

Fury's lip curled in a bitter smirk. "You'll have plenty of time to learn about that later. What I _am_ offering you is a little different." He motioned for Peter to step closer, which he did. "I'm classifying you as a consultant."

Peter was more lost than ever, but before he could say anything, Fury continued. "I want you to keep doing what you're doing," he said. "SHIELD doesn't concern itself with street-level crime or vigilantes, which means you won't have to worry about me turning in your name and address to NYPD."

"Okay. Sir."

"But it also means that I'm going to need something in return." Fury leaned in. "There might come a time when I ask for your help on something."

"Something like what my dad was afraid of?" Peter asked cautiously.

"Something like what went down this morning, and the night before," said Fury, and Peter was both excited and apprehensive at once. "You're a good field agent, Parker. You know how to get a job done. I can use more like you when the mission calls for it."

"But I..." Peter shifted from foot to foot again and tried to stop, conscious that some of the nearby agents were only pretending not to notice him. "Last night, I disobeyed the Captain's orders. He said--"

"I was there, son. I know what happened." Fury straightened up again. "You helped us wrangle the Hulk. I don't think you understand how seriously I take that."

Peter's throat tightened as he remembered Hulk's broad hands trembling against his back. "Actually, sir, I'm pretty sure I do."

Fury nodded, seemingly pleased. "Then I can count on you to do it again, if it needs doing?" he asked.

"Yes." Peter took in a deep breath, and though his stomach was roiling and head spinning, he nodded. "Yes, you can count on me, Director Fury."

Fury offered his hand, and Peter shook it. In his peripheral vision Peter saw one of the agents give a tiny fist-pump, and only then noticed the photo of Spider-Man he had up on his screen. It made him wonder how much Director Fury and his agents really knew, what was in his SHIELD file and what his reputation was like among these seasoned professionals. Before he knew it, he was smiling.

The doors opened behind them, and Peter glanced back. He did a double take when he registered that it was Steve who was entering, and next to him, a tear-streaked but grinning Aunt May. The bridge all but disappeared. Peter forgot about Fury and the agents and Steve and just ran, falling into Aunt May's open arms. She held him so tightly he thought she might crush him, super-strength and all.

"Are you all right?" she asked, and feeling her cry against his shoulder brought tears to his eyes, too. "Peter, are you--"

"Yeah." Peter turned his face into her hair and could have rattled apart. "Yeah, Aunt May, I'm okay."

"They wouldn't show what happened on the news." She tried to ease him back so she could see him, but Peter wasn't ready to let go. "Are you really all right? How did you do?"

"He did great," said Steve, and when Peter glanced up, he felt a flutter in his chest at the proud smile on Steve's face. "He saved Mr. Stark's life, and mine."

Peter wanted to smile back, but he only managed to hide against Aunt May again; he didn't want them to see him cry after having received Fury's blessing. Aunt May must have felt it, because she didn't try to pull away again. She stroked Peter's hair and held him as he pieced his wits back together.

"I'm so proud of you, Peter," she whispered in his ear. "I love you."

Peter leaned into her. "I love you, too, Aunt May."

***

Bruce awoke, as he expected to, in a hospital bed.

But he wasn't in a hospital. Even before he opened his eyes he could feel the empty space circling him, the dull, tinted light of fluorescent lights painting his eyelids red. He flexed his elbows and was surprised not to find restraints. There were no sensors, no heart-rate monitor. It was just him, lying in a bed with no sheets, dressed in socks and a hospital gown.

He felt so heavy. His skin was clammy and his hair matted, and he didn't want to move. The past several hours stewed in his brain like a murky ditch after a long rain, and he was afraid to reach for anything more solid. He didn't want to know what he'd done.

"Bruce?"

The soft, feminine voice put a pulse of electricity through his veins, and he was suddenly very grateful for the absence of medical equipment. He didn't want to open his eyes but he did, and he stared blearily upward at the lovely brunette seated on a stool at his bedside.

Bruce licked his chapped lips. "Betty...?"

Betty leaned against the mattress. "I'm sorry, Bruce," she said, soft and soothing and every part the Betty he remembered. "I know you don't like surprises."

Bruce opened his eyes a little wider and took in his surroundings. He immediately recognized the reinforced glass prison aboard the Helicarrier that had always been meant for him. He smiled bitterly to himself; it had been a long time in coming.

"It's okay," Bruce said quietly, folding his hands across his stomach. It seemed like a nice day to accept one's fate. "I'm not angry anymore."

Betty watched him closely. "How _do_ you feel?"

 _Guilty_. Bruce's eyelids drooped as he watched the blank ceiling above him. _Ashamed._ _Afraid._ "I don't know," he said.

"I was told to tell you something, if you woke up," said Betty, inching closer. "You're aboard SHIELD's Helicarrier. Justin Hammer is in custody, deeply sedated. All of SHIELD's agents made it out all right. The mercenaries are being processed. Tony's all right, and so is Agent Romanoff, and Captain Rogers." She paused as if trying to remember. "And Spider-Man."

Bruce's hands tightened against each other, and it was hard to keep a flash of emotion out of his face. "He's okay?"

"Yes, everyone made it out with only minor injuries. So I was told."

Bruce told himself to relax, but it wasn't easy. The thought of Peter brought to life flickering sensations like ocean spray on his skin: Peter's long hands sticking to his chest; the sting of blood and smoke and acid; breath catching close to his ear, just like when Peter was swinging. They made him ache, and when Betty took his hand, he squeezed it tightly.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he asked, because he was too afraid to ask anything else.

"My father's on board," she said with a wince. "It was SHIELD that responded to him first, so they brought him here for surgery. Director Fury said it was easier that way to handle the clearance, but I think he's just trying to keep an eye on him until he's court martialed."

Bruce looked at her, remembering with a sort of out-of-body clarity those days at the university, Betty's hand in his, desperately wishing that General Thunderbolt Ross would nod his way or clap his shoulder. "Is he going to be all right?"

"They think so." Betty nodded as if trying to convince herself. "The surgery went all right--he's in recovery. I should be with him, I just..." She licked her lips. "I wanted to see you. To see if _you_ were all right."

"I'm all right," Bruce said dully. "I'm never the one that gets hurt."

"That's not true."

"You don't have to do this," Bruce said, though even his frustration sputtered out before forming. His emotions were undulating and he couldn't keep hold of any one of them. "You don't have to be here."

"I know. And it's not that..." Betty struggled over the words, and it was almost startling to him how familiar he was with her every tick. He could already see what she was going to say before she said it. "I thought about coming, after the Battle of New York," she explained once she had organized her thoughts. "But I knew that you would already be gone by the time I got here. And then I saw you on the news a few weeks later, fighting another...mutant. It surprised me, and I thought about coming again, but then I realized..." She smiled slightly. "You still have my phone number. Don't you?"

Bruce sank deeper into the mattress. "Betty, I..."

"It's okay," she said, meaning it. "I knew that if you wanted me to come, you would have said so. And it's okay, that you didn't. I think we both knew it would never..." She shook herself before she could be bogged down in sentiment. "I came here for my father, Bruce. But we did change each other's lives, didn't we? I don't want to think that a time will come when I'll never see you again." She shrugged helplessly and had to wipe away a tear. "It would just be weird."

Bruce stared at her. With her eyes glossy and her dark hair falling off her shoulders it was so easy for him to remember why he had loved her--even easier to remember why it didn't matter. "It would be weird," he agreed, and he even managed a smile. "I am glad you came."

He let her go. She leaned back, her fingers leaving creases in his gown as she withdrew. "So am I." She was quiet for a moment, only a little awkward, and then said, "Tony was here. He said that except for this Justin Hammer nonsense, you were doing really well."

Bruce huffed incredulously. "By _Tony's_ definition of 'well,' maybe."

"My definition of 'well' is pretty standard, actually," said Tony from the door.

Bruce went stiff; his clear memory only extended as far as the van ride with Hammer, and he wasn't sure he was ready to know everything that had transpired after. He watched anxiously as Tony moved to stand next to Betty, taking painful note of the bandages around his hands and bulging beneath his T-shirt. "I'm surprised they let you in here," he said.

"Don't be dramatic," Tony scolded. "This is only a precaution. You're not a prisoner--the damn door isn't even closed."

Bruce frowned at him but was distracted when Betty pushed to her feet. "I should go," she said. She smiled at him. "Take care of yourself, Bruce."

Bruce's hands twitched, and he fisted them to keep her from noticing. "You, too, Betty."

As she showed herself out, Tony took her place. "How'd you ever get a woman like that, anyway?" he asked.

Bruce groaned. "Really, Tony?"

"Don't get me wrong. If I were in your field, I might date you, too."

"You're not my type," said Bruce. A sudden, terrible thought came over him, and he glanced toward the door. Betty was already gone. "Tony, you didn't..."

Tony followed his gaze and then looked back. "Didn't...what?" When Bruce winced he caught on. "I didn't tell her about Peter, if that's what you're thinking. Geez, did you really think I would? I'm not an idiot here, you know."

Bruce sighed and rubbed his eyes with both hands. "Tony."

"Because I'm sure it's hard enough breaking up with your not-boyfriend, let alone finding out he cut you loose for a teenager in spandex. Ugh, brutal."

Bruce laughed despite himself, but his humor was short-lived. As he lay there with his hands over his eyes he thought about the last time he had seen Peter, barreling toward Hammer's loaded gun. Fingerprints of the battles afterward were pressed into him like bruises, but he couldn't recall anything other than a feeling of shame, deep in the pit of his stomach. "Tony..."

Tony stood up, and a moment later he returned to drop a bundle of clothes on Bruce's stomach. "Pepper brought you some clothes from the tower," he said. "Get dressed and let's take a walk. You need it."

Bruce didn't agree, but he changed anyway. Just as Tony had said, no one tried to stop him from leaving the circular prison. The guard on duty even gave him an acknowledging nod. Once they were out of the brig he managed to relax somewhat. "So," he said. "I guess I should ask what happened."

"I'll admit, it was rough," said Tony. "How much do you remember?"

"A pack of cigarettes. Rita Hayworth."

Tony made a face. "Hammer took us to one of his company dumping grounds," he explained. "He had Stark Industries' vita-ray chamber holed up in there, from the war. God only knows how he ended up with it."

Bruce flinched. "Is it functional?"

"Not...at the moment. They're still pulling the pieces of the rubble. You brought the building down."

Bruce flinched again. "Betty said everyone made it out okay...?"

"We may have lost a mercenary or two. No one was counting them." When Bruce shot him a look, he toned down his usual routine. "Everyone made it out okay, Bruce. I know I look banged up, but that was all Hammer. Steve and Peter took a few licks between them, but they're all right." He hesitated a moment and then added, "It was the two of them that brought you down."

Bruce wiped his mouth and said, "I'm afraid to ask if there's footage."

"There isn't, as far as I know. I don't think you'd want to see it, anyway."

Bruce wanted to see it. He thought about Peter's voice in his ear and had to know exactly what had happened and if he'd hurt him. Over and over he thought of all things he should have done, until Tony kept talking.

"I know it's no use asking you not to beat yourself up over this," Tony said. "But it wasn't your fault. It was Hammer."

"But I--" Bruce started.

"It was Hammer," Tony repeated emphatically, and he sounded a little scary himself. "Thanks to him being such an asshole about it, everyone knows it. And Hammer was pretty much my problem to begin with, which means I'm just as guilty in all of this as you are."

"Tony," said Bruce. "No."

"If you remember what he said in the van, then you know--"

"Tony, no," Bruce repeated. "None of what happened is your fault. It was Hammer..."

He trailed off, and they stopped walking to stare at each other. They laughed.

"I guess there's no point in us playing Blame Olympics," said Tony.

Bruce couldn't help but smile. "None at all. It's not as if you can beat me."

"You're such an asshole, Bruce."

"In _that_ , you can probably beat me."

They stopped at an observation glass and stood side by side, staring out over the water. Watching it churn and froth somehow put Bruce at ease, even if there was still so much ahead. "I feel like I should be relieved that it's over," he said. "But it isn't really, is it?"

"Not really." Tony scraped the back of his hand over his mouth. He looked uncertain, and it was so out of character for him that Bruce fell quiet to watch. "Bruce," he said at long last, "Pepper and I are talking about moving back out to Malibu."

Bruce's shoulders sagged. He started to ask why, but stopped himself when he realized how obvious the answer was. He looked away.

"I love the city. I love my tower. But I do miss the house, the privacy. And--"

"Don't bullshit me," Bruce interrupted. "I get it. There's a lot of heat on you right now and you want to lay low for a while."

Tony's lip curled. "I was getting to that. But it's not _just_ that." He grew serious again. "It's something I've been thinking about for a while, actually. All of this just made me realize I was right. _Peter_ made me realize I was right."

Bruce frowned at him. "Peter? How so?"

"He saved my life." Tony rubbed his chest where the arc reactor was obscured by bandages. "He could have gotten himself killed doing it. We've spent all this time arguing about whether or not he was ready, but he just jumped in there and.... Well. It's kind of embarrassing. Everyone was putting their lives on the line to save me, and I couldn't do anything."

"It's not your fault you didn't have the armor," said Bruce, though he knew Tony would take little comfort from it.

Tony shook his head. "Peter's the real deal," he said. "So is Steve. Hell, even Natasha thinks I'm a liability. All I have are toys."

"That's not true and you know it."

"True or not, I only know one way of dealing with it."

Bruce sighed. He didn't have it in him to talk Tony out of anything, despite his selfish pang of disappointment. "What happens to the tower, then, if you're gone?"

Tony rallied himself. "There's a building management department set up to look after things, of course. Each of the R&D floors is mostly self-contained, so they should be fine. They'll all miss Pepper more than they will me." He turned toward Bruce. "I'm hoping you'll stay on, of course."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Are you offering me the penthouse?"

"Hell no," Tony grunted. "Stay on your own floor. But everyone on the upper level knows you, now. They like you. And I'll feel better having a friend watch over the place." He hemmed for a moment and added, "But yeah, sure, you can party in the penthouse as long as Pepper doesn't find out."

Bruce smiled wearily as he stared down at his feet. "You're worried I'm still going to run," he said quietly.

"Of course I am. Who's going to talk sense into you if not me?" He sighed. "Honestly, it's only because of you that I haven't left already. It wasn't an easy decision for me."

Bruce watched him out of the corner of his eye. He could see how truthful Tony was being, and he felt guilty all over again that for as much of a friend Tony had been for him, he hadn't done the best job of returning the favor. He had to make a decision, too. "So, you get to run," he said. "But I don't." He scuffed his toe against the floor. "Life sure isn't fair."

"Sure isn't."

They stood together for a while longer, feeling the Helicarrier rock subtly beneath their feet. "So?" Tony said at last. He was never much good at waiting. "Are you going to tower-sit for me or what?"

Bruce swallowed hard as his smile waned. The thought of running was suddenly exhausting, but he couldn't decide anything until... "Where's Peter?"

"I think I know." He gave Bruce's shoulder a clap and stepped away from the glass. "C'mon."

They walked to the cafeteria. It was still too early for the normal lunch crowd to have set in, making it easy to spot a familiar group near the wall: Peter, Steve, and Pepper were sharing a meal with an older woman with long, brown hair. When Bruce realized who she must have been he almost lost his nerve, but then Steve noticed them. He gave Peter a nudge.

Peter turned, and upon spotting Bruce his face went blank. He stood up so fast his chair would have toppled if Steve hadn't grabbed it. Bruce only had a moment to brace himself before Peter had flown across the room and was flinging his arms around him. He rocked back on his heels and had to take a step to keep from falling, but once he had his balance, he couldn't help but embrace Peter back.

"Bruce." Peter clutched Bruce to him, his long frame trembling. "Are you all right? Cap said you'd be okay, but they wouldn't tell me where they took you, and--"

"I'm all right," said Bruce, even if he wasn't sure it was true. There was something eerie about drawing Peter in--an almost déjà vu-like sensation that went along with Peter's teary cheek pressed against his. He could feel Peter's slight cringe when his hands discovered bruises and part of him wanted to run. The better part won out; he wrapped Peter up, squeezed him tight and sure and didn't care who was there to watch.

"I'm sorry," Bruce whispered, closing his eyes. "I'm so sorry for what I've put you through."

Peter let out a long sigh, and when they were each ready, he leaned back. "It's okay," he said, touching Bruce's face with both hands. His eyes were already red from crying, and he didn't try to wipe away a few more tears. "I'm all right. And we finally got the asshole." He grinned, a little shaky but earnest. "I'm just glad you're back."

Bruce grimaced, but before he could say anything more he realized that the rest of the table had risen to join them. He braced himself a second time as the brunette approached with a patient, almost motherly smile. When Peter noticed her, too, his cheeks turned rosy and he eased away from Bruce, instead taking his hand. "Um...Bruce, this is my aunt, May Parker," Peter introduced hopefully. "Aunt May, this is...Bruce. Dr. Bruce Banner."

It was surreal. He could see that May had been crying, too, and he had no idea what to say. With a deep breath he extended his free hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Parker."

"May," she corrected him as she shook his hand. "Since I assume we're going to be seeing quite a bit of each other from now on, you might as well start with May."

"Then you can call me Bruce, of course." Bruce smiled awkwardly. "I probably have a lot of explaining to do, don't I?"

May's eyes drifted downward to their joined hands, then to Peter's face. "Not as much as you'd think," she said. "Peter's already told me a lot about you, and..." Her expression was a predictable mix of caution and relief. "Some parts of this are for _me_ to work out on my own. But I'm glad you're all right, Bruce. You look all right, at least."

"I am," said Bruce. "Thank you."

Peter's hand tightened around Bruce's, and he beamed. He shot Aunt May a look that she easily interpreted. "In fact," she said, "I'd like to invite you over for dinner sometime soon, if you're up to it."

The simple invitation was incredibly daunting, but Bruce nodded anyway. "I'd like that; thank you."

"Hey, um." Peter glanced between them. "Can you give me a second, Bruce?"

"Of course."

Even having asked, Peter was still reluctant to give up Bruce's hand. He slipped free and moved with Aunt May to the side so they could speak in quiet tones. In their absence, Steve stepped forward. "How are you really, Bruce?" he asked, as to-the-point as ever.

Bruce shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm all right, really," he said. He had the impression that it got a little truer each time he said so; or at least he liked to think that it did. He noticed patches of gauze on Steve's arms and neck and scratched the back of his head. "I get the feeling I owe you an apology for more than what happened in the tower," he said sheepishly.

Steve smiled slightly. "I accept," he said. "And I have to take some responsibility for it, too."

Bruce wanted to disagree, but then Tony gave him a look, and he already knew how that conversation would go. "Thank you," he said instead. "I don't actually remember much of what happened, but I'm sure you were there for Peter more than I was." Sincerity threatened to close his throat. "I appreciate it. I really do."

Steve nodded, and Bruce was grateful for the moment of understanding that passed between them. Chances were they still had plenty to work through, but it was a very welcome truce.

Peter and May returned; as soon as they were close again, Peter retook Bruce's hand. "Can we find a private place to talk, maybe?" he asked.

Bruce's stomach clawed up his ribs, but he nodded. "Sure." He glanced to the others.

"We'll look after Miss May for you," said Tony, and when he hooked his arm around hers, she blushed.

"There's a lounge at the far end of the cafeteria for superior officers," added Steve. He unclipped his ID badge and handed it to Peter. "This should get you in."

"Thanks." Peter smiled at them and then gave Brue a tug. "Ready?"

"Yeah...." Bruce gulped and let Peter lead the way.

The lounge was more pleasant than Bruce had expected from a SHIELD base; there were comfortable chairs, a few tables, and even some potted plants. A bench faced a broad observation window overlooking the water, and it was there that Bruce and Peter seated themselves. They spent a long time just sitting side by side, hands still held, watching the waves.

It was almost terrifying. Peter felt so young and vulnerable next to him, and as much as the gentle warmth of his body was comforting, he couldn't help but feel guilty for it. Peter was brave and strong and brilliant--he deserved so much more. He thought of Betty's turned back, remembered the sight of her bruised and broken in a hospital bed, and couldn't bear to be a disappointment to someone else. He didn't know what he would have done if Tony had led him to the infirmary instead of the cafeteria.

But then he took a deep breath and was talking anyway.

"My mother died when I was young," Bruce said, uncertain at first of where the words were coming from. "I think I was about the same age as when you lost yours, actually. It wasn't my fault, but I blamed myself anyway. Sometimes, I still do."

Peter watched him very closely, and his hand tightened. Bruce continued. "I lied about what happened. I was so afraid--of myself, of my father, of being alone. I didn't know what else to do. But as I got older, and I started to understand what had really happened, all that fear of mine turned to anger. It was with me all the time. I was angry at everything, and I...I think mostly I just hated myself." He sighed. "I guess, sometimes, I still do that, too."

Peter chewed his lip. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I need you to understand that anything the Hulk..." Bruce grimaced and corrected himself. "Anything I did as the Hulk wasn't your fault, or because of you, or about you. I've known the truth for a long time but I didn't want to admit it. When I first transformed it was so easy to blame everything on the accident, to pretend my failed science had put something in me. But then Steve proved it: the Hulk is still me. Everything he is and does comes from me. All that hate and anger..." He watched a singular wave on the surf form whitecaps and then melt back into the ocean. "It's only because I'm angry with myself. I've never been angry at you and I'm sorry--I'm so sorry if I hurt you."

Peter was quiet for a moment, and though Bruce figured he was simply absorbing, when he had the courage to look he realized that Peter was staring at him in confusion. He shook his head. "Bruce, you didn't hurt me."

Bruce didn't believe it, and his doubt must have showed in his face, because Peter leaned closer and said again, "You didn't hurt me; the Hulk saved my life. You pulled me out of the building when Hammer was bringing it down. You were pretty pissed at Cap, yeah, but you stopped because of me. Even when it was kind of scary, I knew you wouldn't hurt me, and you didn't." Peter shifted on the bench. "And even before all that, in your apartment...it freaked me out at first, but you--Hulk--you weren't angry, then. It was even kind of..." He blushed. "...exciting."

Bruce blinked at him, uncomprehending. "What?"

Peter's cheeks flushed darker. "You were just so...so big," he said. "And strong, but so gentle. You took care of me. I mean, come on, it was..." He held up his arm, but then grew too flustered to finish whatever thought he'd been forming. "And, uh, honestly? It turned me on. It's like you became this primal _thing_ but even then all you cared about was me, and I kinda got off on that." Bruce continued to stare at him, and he added, "So did you."

Finally Bruce lowered his head. Peter was talking nonsense and it took him a long time to let the words sink in. Even then he couldn't picture the scenario Peter was describing: Hulk, intimate and caring, born from something other than wrath. It had never occurred to him that Hulk was capable, and the knowledge overwhelmed him. As he rubbed his stinging eyes he reached down into the pit of him where Hulk's snapshot memories flickered amidst the shadows. Whenever he tried to recall his time as the beast he was only able to find hate and gunpowder and remorse, but Peter's red cheeks and ears drew him to something deeper. Past the acid and vengeance were warmth, and pride, and pleasure. Hulk was nestled in his heart and he was glad knowing that Peter had admired him.

"Afterward, it was a little scary," Peter admitted as Bruce's shoulders hitched. "We hadn't really talked about the Hulk, so I didn't know what to do. I knew you wouldn't hurt me, but I panicked a little. That's how you ended up sedated. But I'm sure it wouldn't have come to that if I'd just kept my cool." He shrugged. "So maybe, if we can just, you know, have a conversation about it..."

Bruce sagged into his palm. All the swirling emotions he'd kept at bay since waking drew suddenly together, pulsing up into his throat. He almost couldn't breathe, too afraid to hope that Peter was sincere, that Peter could see him exposed so plainly and yet remain. He was an impossible existence and more than Bruce had ever expected or deserved, and it made Bruce weak thinking about it.

Peter took Bruce's hand in both of his and leaned closer, his weight resting against Bruce's shoulder and back. His breath tickled Bruce's cheek, and when he gulped, Bruce could feel it. "Mr. Stark said you tried to run away without saying anything," he said quietly.

Bruce was concentrating too hard on breathing to answer. Peter wriggled closer still, turning his face against the side of Bruce's neck. "Can you just...not do that?" Peter said. "Like, ever?"

Bruce licked his lips and tasted salt. He was already crying. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried as a grown man. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "I panicked a little, too."

Peter kissed his shoulder. He shifted back and forth as if working up to something, but Bruce didn't want to talk anymore; he gave into instinct, letting go of Peter's hands so he could pull him around and into his lap. Peter immediately relented, holding Bruce to his chest as he wrapped him up in his arms. For a few minutes Bruce let himself forget how selfish he was being and just held Peter close, reminding himself of how good it felt to adore and be adored by someone so equally.

"So?" said Peter, his palms sticking to Bruce's back. "You're not going to try to leave again, right?"

Bruce sighed, stretching his shoulders just to feel the tickle of Peter's fingertips keeping their hold. "I'm not leaving," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

Peter leaned back just enough to kiss him. His lips were sweet and thankful, and Bruce would never get enough of them. He kissed Peter back, trading in his apologies for promises. Even when his heart beat faster and he expected a flicker of warning in his chest, it didn't come. The Hulk was still in him, but it was willing to let him have this. It _wanted_ him to have this. That more than anything convinced Bruce that he could stay.

When they returned to the cafeteria, a second table had been added to the first, making room for the addition of Natasha and Clint. Clint was wearing his sunglasses, likely to cover his bloodshot eyes after a long emergency flight back from South America.

"I can't believe they were in the city the whole damn time," he was saying. "Where did our information even come from? The guys in intel have a lot to answer for."

"Intruder," Natasha interrupted, and everyone glanced up.

Bruce was sure that his eyes were still red, but no one commented as he and Peter rejoined the table. "Peter, this is Clint Barton," Bruce introduced. "Otherwise known on the Avengers as Hawkeye."

Clint tipped his glasses down to give Peter a once-over. "So I guess I have you to thank for cleaning up my mess," he said.

"Um, actually, Cap and Agent Romanoff are the ones that handled the mercenaries, mostly," said Peter. "But it's an honor to meet you, sir."

"Sir," Clint echoed. He nudged his glasses back up and looked to Natasha. "I like that."

"I was telling your aunt that she ought to come to the tower for my Fourth of July barbeque," said Tony, taking command of the table. "It'll be a blast."

"And I told him I'm not one for a fancy party," said May. "I'm much more at home at a pot-luck."

"So it'll be a pot-luck barbeque. Come on, it's Independence Day and we have to celebrate Rogers' first birthday out of the ice properly. How many candles do we need? Ninety-four, ninety-five?"

Steve made a face at him. "I'll be twenty-seven, Stark."

"Just because you didn't age doesn't mean those years don't count."

Peter glanced between them. "Hold on--is the Captain's birthday _really_ the Fourth of July?"

"That's what I said," added Pepper. "It has to be some kind of World War II propaganda."

Natasha shrugged. "It wouldn't be the first time SHIELD forged a personnel file."

Bruce leaned back in his chair as the conversation continued around him, the topic leaping from Steve defending his birthdate, to Clint suggesting they find a way to introduce their new spider-friend to Thor, even some speculation on Twitter's reaction to the sudden end of Hammer's reign. He was content to watch rather than contribute. Peter was beaming almost ear to ear, his wit as sharp and teenagery as ever, and while he held his own with the group his hand never left Bruce's. Sometimes he squeezed tightly, his palm hot and sweaty and even a little stifling; sometimes he played idly with Bruce's fingers under the table, tracing them knuckle to tip with his own. He was a part of them, but more than that he was a part of Bruce.

It made Bruce more than he had ever been.

***

The End

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kudos, follows, and comments! I appreciate the support so much. This fic's been a ton of fun, and I do have thoughts on a third (hence a few dangling plot threads), but I'd like to wait until ASM2 and Cap2 have given us more canon to work with. In the meantime I'll still be ficcing in MCU and Hannibal, so if you enjoyed this fic I hope you'll take a peek at my others.
> 
> Thanks again for reading my fic, I hope you liked it!
> 
> ETA: Now that the movies are out, part 3 is in the works. In the meantime, I'm doing some shortfics in between, which you can find by clicking the series link below.


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